tfBRARv 


THROUGH  REALMS  OF  SONG 


THROUGH  REALMS  OF  SONG 


BY 

ISAAC  BASSETT  CHOATE 


BOSTON 

CHAPPLE  PUBLISHING  COMPANY,  LTD. 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,    1914.   BY 
ISAAC   BASSETT   CHOATE 


THE  CHAPPLE  PRESS 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  TT.B.A. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THROUGH  REALMS  OF  SONG  .  3 

BETWEEN  THE  LINES 4 

THE  SONNET 5 

POESY 6 

THE  POET 7 

THE  IDLER 8 

TRUTH  AND  BEAUTT 9 

OLD-TIME  SONG    10 

THE  SINGING  ROBE    11 

CHARMS  OF  MINSTRELSY 12 

POWER  OF  SONG   13 

GIFT  OF  SONO  14 

SONO  AND  REVERIE    15 

THE  OVER-SONG 16 

ISLES  OF  SONG 17 

SONG,  THE  PILGRIM 18 

THE  CHORUS   19 

THE  CHORAL  DANCE   20 

THE  DANCERS  21 

IN  THOUGHT 22 

NATURE'S  THOUGHT 23 

ONE  LITTLE  THOUGHT    24 

ON  THE  INTERVALE    25 

AT  DAYBREAK 26 

IMPRISONMENT  27 

SILENCE    28 

SILENCE  IN  Music  29 

MAGIC  REEDS    30 

NATURE'S  HARMONIES   31 

THE  EMPTY  SHELL 32 

THE  DRUID 33 

ACROSS  THE  CENTURIES 34 

BELATED  HONORS 35 

RELEASE   36 

IN  THE  GALLERY  .  .  .37 


PAGE 

NATURE'S  SYMPHONIES 38 

TRIUMPH  OF  SONG    39 

MINSTRELSY  UNHEARD 40 

PAN    41 

DEATH  OF  PAN   42 

FAUNS    43 

THE  SILENT  MUSE 44 

LAVRIGER    45 

ANGELS'  VISITS   46 

AT  WHEEL  AND  LOOM 47 

THE  SCROLL 48 

THE  QUIETIST 49 

THE  MYSTIC 50 

SUGGESTION    51 

OUR  EXEMPTION   52 

GIPSIES    53 

THE  PITY   54 

Music  UNCONDITIONED   55 

SORROW'S  SERVICE    56 

BY  THE  STREAM    57 

WINGED  WORDS 58 

INSCRIBED  59 

PERSIA'S  POET 60 

OMAR  KHAYYAM    61 

THE  PAGAN  WORLD 62 

ON  THE  SACRED  WAY    63 

HEAD  OF  APHRODITE   64 

HELLAS    66 

ORPHEUS 66 

ECRYDICE    67 

SONG'S  HERITAGE   68 

MELPOMENE     69 

ATYS 70 

NIOBE    71 

PSYCHE    .                                   .  72 


[v 


PAGE 

PSYCHE  AND  PROSERPINA    ...  73 

PYGMALION 74 

ATHENA 75 

DIONYSUS   76 

THE  CARYATIDES 77 

PAEAN  78 

CYDIPPE'S  PRAYER   79 

UP  PARNASSUS 80 

TRAGEDY 81 

ENDYMION 82 

LETHE    83 

NEMESIS    84 

HOMER 85 

SONG  OF  LINUS 86 

HELEN 87 

ON  THE  WALL 88 

ACHILLES  AND  ATHENA   89 

HECTOR'S  PARTING 90 

ODYSSEUS    91 

PENELOPE 92 

OFF  SIGEUM 93 

SAPPHO    94 

KLE'IS 95 

A  FRAGMENT    96 

EHINNA   97 

AESCHYLUS 98 

PROMETHEUS 99 

PINDAR 100 

AT  OLYMPIA 101 

SOPHOCLES    102 

AT  AULIS    103 

ANTIGONE   104 

ANTIGONE  AT  COLONUS 105 

PHILOCTETES 106 

ELECTHA    AT    HER    FATHER'S 

TOMB 107 

EURIPIDES 108 

ORESTES  IN  SANCTUARY 109 

ORESTES  AT  DELPHI 110 

ALCESTIS Ill 

MELEAGER    112 

THEOCRITUS   .  .113 


PAGE 

PASTORALS    114 

LUCRETIUS 115 

CATULLUS   116 

VIRGIL 117 

HORACE 118 

LALAGE    119 

OVID  IN  EXILE    120 

DANTE 121 

BEATRICE 122 

THE  "INFERNO"    123 

THE  NEW  LIFE    124 

PETRARCH 125 

MICHAEL  ANGELO  126 

TASSO'S  PRISON 127 

CIRIACO  DI  ANCONA 128 

CONSTANTINE 129 

CAMOENS 130 

EL  CID    131 

LADY  ANNE  MACHAN 132 

THE  MINNESINGER 133 

GUNLAD'S  MEAD 134 

THE  SKALD 135 

FOUNT  OF  URD   136 

IDUNA'S  RUNES 137 

MINIER'S  WELL 138 

FRITHIOF'S  SAGA 139 

GOETHE 140 

FAUST 141 

SCHILLER , 142 

HEINE   143 

LA  FONTAINE 144 

CHATEAUBRIAND 145 

BERANGER 146 

VICTOR  HUGO 147 

HEREDIA  148 

CARMEN  SYLVA    149 

TARA    150 

STONEHENGE 151 

THE  ROUND  TABLE    152 

PASSING  OF  ARTHUR 153 

EXCALIBUR   154 

IN  AVALON  . .  .155 


[vi] 


PAGE 

CHAUCEB 156 

CANTERBURY  PILGRIMAGE  . . .   157 

SPENSER    158 

THE  FAERIE  QUEEN 159 

WOODS  OF  ARDEN 160 

SHAKESPEARE   161 

HAMLET 162 

BEN  JONBON 163 

MILTON 164 

PARADISE  LOST   165 

Loss  OF  EDEN 166 

GOLDSMITH   167 

THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE  ....   168 

BURNS  169 

SCOTT 170 

LADY  OF  THE  LAKE   171 

WORDSWORTH 172 

COLERIDGE   173 

CRRISTABEL    174 

TENNYSON  . .  .   175 


PAQB 

PALACE  or  ART 176 

BYRON 177 

PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 178 

SHELLET    179 

ADONAIS 180 

KEATS   181 

HOOD 182 

SONG  OF  THE  SHIRT 183 

BRYANT 184 

"A  FOREST  HYMN"      185 

EMERSON    186 

POE    187 

WHITTIER   188 

"SNOW-BOUND" 189 

LONGFELLOW 190 

AD  MAGISTBEM   191 

HIAWATHA 192 

PRISCILLA.  193 

AT  THB  HALTING  PLACE 194 

AD  LECTOREM  . .                       .  195 


[vii] 


THROUGH  REALMS  OF  SONG 


THROUGH  REALMS  OF  SONG 

W  E  twain  have  ventured  on  a  journey  long, 
Myself  and  idle  Fancy — neither  wise — 
Into  a  land  o'erspread  by  morning  skies, 

A  land  but  little  known  unto  the  throng ; 

Thither  alone  have  we  two  hied  along 
The  quiet  path,  invisible,  that  lies 
Close  by  those  streams  that  border  Paradise — 

Fair  path  that  led  us  on  through  realms  of  song. 

And  now,  returning  thence,  our  fingers  hold 
Stray  leaves  picked  up  along  our  lonely  ways, 

Our  ears  are  filled  with  music  we  have  heard. 
Perchance  these  crumpled,  faded  leaves,  unrolled, 
May  show  faint  tracings  to  another's  gaze — 
Some  half -remembered,  half -forgotten  word. 


[3 


BETWEEN  THE  LINES 

I  WONDER  if  at  any  time  there  will 
A  reader  come  to  turn  these  pages  so 
That  he  may  take  the  pains  to  con  and  know 

What  sentiments  of  kindly  Nature  fill 

These  limping  lines,  and  having,  too,  the  skill 
To  read  between  them  all  that  lies  below 
Their  even  surface,  in  whose  mirror  show 

Only  the  pictures  traced  by  senseless  quill. 

And  then  meseems  it  as  in  prison  cold 

One  looks  through  slit  in  stone,  through  iron  rods, 
He  sees  how  fair  and  warm  the  summer  shines ; 
And  so,  perchance,  some  reader  may  behold 
How  fair  a  fancy  'tis  that  smiles,  and  nods, 
And  beckons  to  him  here  between  the  lines. 


4] 


THE   SONNET 

1  HE  royal  oak,  alone,  without  a  peer, 

Stands  in  the  midst  of  subjects  that  surround 
.    In  close  array,  with  deference  profound, — 
In  sovereignty  it  brooks  no  rival  near, 
But  growing  yet  more  sturdy  year  by  year, 
Firm  planted  and  deep  rooted  in  the  ground, 
With  majesty  of  strength  and  beauty  crowned, 
Unchallenged  holds  its  gracious  presence  here. 

The  sonnet  has  a  province  all  its  own, 
Maintains  no  retinue  of  courtiers  nigh, 

Keeps  in  domain  of  letters  honored  place ; 
To  every  cultured  language  is  it  known 

For  feelings  that  are  deep,  thoughts  that  are  high, 
Yielding  a  form  of  stateliness  and  grace. 


[5] 


POESY 

JVlEN  have  in  all  times  had  their  sacred  shrine 
On  lofty  hill,  a  space  of  holy  ground, 
Some  spot  with  awful  reverence  compassed  round, 

Within  the  silence  of  o'ershadowing  pine; 

There  have  they  sacrificed  to  powers  divine, 
The  flaming  altar  with  their  gifts  have  crowned 
And  then  have  blaze  of  burning  incense  drowned 

In  copious  libations  poured  of  wine. 

But  Poesy,  companion  close  of  Art, 
Has  ever  dwelt  within  the  vale  below, 

Beside  the  waters  of  clear  flowing  springs ; 
There  with  her  sister  Graces  lives  apart, 

With  soothing  voice  she  charms  a  world  of  woe 
And  to  the  heart  of  man  she  sweetly  sings. 


THE  POET 

11 E  touched  a  chord  that  had  been  slumbering 

long, 

He  waked  an  echo  from  its  dreamless  sleep 
And  gave  to  an  ungracious  world  to  keep 

The  sweet  enchantment  of  his  idle  song. 

His  life  was  lost  amid  the  busy  throng 

Whose  hearts  and  souls  are  all  intent  to  reap 
Full  profit  of  their  toiling, — on  the  deep 

As  on  the  stable  land  their  lives  belong. 

And  yet  the  poet  played  his  humble  part, 
Gave  to  the  gainful  task  a  keener  zest, 

Fed  lamps  that  in  life's  sanctuary  burn; 
He  found  the  highest  motive  in  his  art, 
Strove  with  all  effort  to  attain  the  best, 
Nor  asked  he  any  guerdon  in  return. 


7] 


THE   IDLER 

x\  CARELESS  saunterer,  he  meditates, 
While  strolling  idly  crowded  streets  along 
With  pace  unmeasured,  measure  of  a  song 

Which  to  the  praise  of  Love  he  dedicates; 

And  as  to  his  impassioned  thought  he  mates 
Words  that  shall  do  its  tenderness  no  wrong, 
The  poet  soon  is  lost  amid  the  throng 

That  hurries  on  and  for  him  never  waits. 

But  when  the  day  is  ended  with  its  care, 

With  all  its  tasks  that  have  been  worried  through, 

Its  hours  been  bartered  for  a  meager  pay, 
Perchance  some  tired  soul  will  be  aware 

There  was  a  pensive  man  whom  no  one  knew, 
Yet  kinsman  of  them  all,  in  town  today. 


[8] 


TRUTH  AND  BEAUTY 

/TL  REALM  of  mystery  to  all  beside 
Those  who  have  been  endowed  with  vision  clear, 
With  quick  and  keen  perception  of  the  seer, 

Who  finds  that  truth  and  beauty  are  allied, 

That,  each  to  other  faithful,  they  abide; 
And  those  who  have  the  finely  practised  ear 
In  Nature's  voice  a  harmony  will  hear 

Which  to  our  duller  senses  is  denied. 

That  mystery  avails  to  lure  the  bold 
Adventurer  beyond  the  hither  shore 

In  search  of  what  to  him  is  fresh  and  new ; 
A  bright  mirage  it  is  with  charm  to  hold 
In  spell  of  deep  enchantment ;  evermore 
He  dwells  with  what  is  beautiful  and  true. 


[9] 


OLD-TIME   SONG 

A  YOUNG  voice  goes  on  singing  all  day  long 
Light  airs  melodious  in  this  crowded  street, 
Amid  loud  roar  of  traffic,  tramp  of  feet, 

Mad  rush  and  medley  of  fast-hurrying  throng ; 

A  young  voice  singing  ever  clear  and  strong 
In  tones  of  innocence  divinely  sweet 
Is  heard  in  measured  music  to  repeat 

Unstudied  cadences  of  old-time  song. 

Is  it  that  feelings  are  no  longer  stirred, 

That  memories  are  not  wakened  by  the  voice 

Which  over  all  this  din  and  tumult  rings? 
Are  those  rich  melodies  no  longer  heard 

That  once  moved  souls  to  sorrow  and  rejoice, 
To  be  uplifted  as  on  angel  wings? 


10 


THE  SINGING  ROBE 

W  HO  wears  a  singing  robe  is  richly  dight," 
Its  loosened  folds  in  rhythmic  measure  flow 
Adown  his  form — his  graceful  figure  show 

In  happy  blending  of  the  dark  and  light, 

The  silk  in  purple  with  the  ermine  white, 
That  drape  in  harmonies  the  pain  and  woe 
With  joy  of  triumph  over  fallen  foe; 

The  sweet  succession  of  life's  day  and  night. 

He  need  not  wear  the  heavy  crown  of  kings 
Nor  need  he  yet  a  royal  scepter  bear 

To  prove  he  is  the  sovereign  of  mind ; 
The  potent  spirit  of  the  song  he  sings 
Makes  conquest  of  the  human  heart,  and  there 
Is  poet  hailed  as  noblest  of  mankind. 


11 


CHARM  OF  MINSTRELSY 

1  HE  pagan  gods  are  dead,  Pan  last  of  all 
To  leave  the  shepherds  and  their  shepherding 
On  slopes  enclosing  the  Pierian  spring, 

Muse-haunted,  whose  clear  waters  in  their  fall 

Within  the  woods  wake  echoes  musical 
That  to  the  ears  of  later  singers  bring 
Harmonious  numbers  of  what  hymns  they  sing 

When  would  they  celebrate  Pan's  festival. 

Yes,  Pan  is  dead,  his  altar  fires  are  cold, 

All  withered  are  the  garlands  that  were  hung 

Around  those  altars  at  an  earlier  day; 
But  yet  the  charms  of  minstrelsy  still  hold 
Their  magic  spell  in  what  today  is  sung, — 
The  world  delights  in  some  sweet  pastoral  lay. 


12] 


POWER  OF  SONG 

A  LITTLE  hand,  that  of  a  little  maid 
Just  starting  on  her  pilgrimages  here 
And  of  the  future  having  yet  no  fear, 

Confidingly  in  my  rough  palm  was  laid 

While  down  the  narrow  grass-grown  lane  we  strayed 
To  where  the  mountain-shadowed  brooks  appear 
Running  with  currents  musically  clear 

As  when  in  childhood  on  their  banks  I  played. 

One  hand  was  soft  with  finger-tips  of  rose, 
The  other,  wrinkled  parchment  written  plain 
With  record  of  the  years  marked  deep  and 

strong ; 

But  yet  the  little  hand  led  where  it  chose, 
And  at  what  pace  it  chose,  adown  the  lane; 
Such  also  is  the  magic  power  of  song. 


[13] 


GIFT  OF  SONG 

11 EA YEN'S  almoner,  most  gracious  to  bestow 
Upon  our  world  the  gift  of  genial  light, 
Who  ranged  the  ridges  of  Cyllene's  height, 

Equipped  with  quiver  and  with  shining  bow, 

And  foaming  wild  boar  close  pursuing,  so 
With  fleet  Diana  of  the  moonlit  night 
Shot  his  keen  arrows  of  unerring  flight 

And  laid  the  frightened,  panting  quarry  low. 

The  loud,  sharp  twanging  of  the  vibrant  string 
Rang  with  a  rhythmic  sweetness  to  his  ear, 
He  listened  to  the  cadenced  tremor  long ; 
Then  did  he  teach  the  golden  lyre  to  sing 

What  were  the  gods  Olympian  glad  to  hear, — 
He  led  the  Muses  in  their  rapturous  song. 


14 


SONG  AND  REVERIE 

1  HE  winds  are  vocal  on  this  summer's  day, 
Are  tuneful  as  they  come  between  the  hills, 
And,  keeping  pace  with  idly  lapsing  rills, 

They  make  a  drowsy  music  on  their  way, 

For  they  have  found  thin  reeds  on  which  to  lay 
Their  lips  in  a  warm  glowing  kiss  that  thrills 
Fond  heart  of  Nature — wakes  the  love  that  fills 

A  universe  as  idle  as  are  they. 

So  are  revived  faint  passions  of  the  past, 
And  sweetest  memories  come  back  anew 

When  storied  fields  of  thought  and  purpose  vast 
With  Song  and  Reverie  are  wandered  through, 

Back  to  that  eastern  gateway  where  at  last 
A  glimpse  of  Eden  flashes  into  view. 


15] 


THE  OVER-SONG 

W  E  deem  it  must  be  somewhat  loud  and  strong, 
Some  swift,  onrushing  organ-peal  of  sound, 
Or  mighty  voice  from  silences  profound 

That  unto  unfrequented  shores  belong, 

Some  cry  of  terror  from  the  stricken  throng 
Whom  Fate  has  in  extremest  peril  bound 
And  with  unspoken  horror  hemmed  around ; — 

We  deem  that  this  is  Nature's  over-song. 

But  if  we  listen  when  the  waves  are  still, 
When  soundly  sleeping  lies  the  tired  shore, 

When  chambers  of  the  shell  hushed  murmurs  fill, 
A  half-forgotten  measure  pondered  o'er, 

Then  laughing  waters  of  a  tinkling  rill 
Sweet  music  of  that  over-song  will  pour. 


16 


ISLES  OF  SONG 

1  HEY  lie  in  quiet  off  our  morning  shore, 
But   rarely   seen  just  glimmering  through  the 

haze 
That  haunts  our  coast  on  all  these  summer  days, 

And  hangs,  a  misty  shroud,  these  waters  o'er — 

Those  Isles  of  Song  round  which  strong  currents 

pour, 

Round  which  the  idle  ocean  fondly  plays, 
On  their  warm  shelving  sands  a  warm  lip  lays 

Breathing  of  peacefulness  forevermore. 

Perhaps  the  vision  of  those  isles  is  dim 

To  those  who  look  for  them  at  night  and  morn, 

And  indistinct  at  best  their  forms  appear, 
But  their  lone  site  is  fully  known  to  him 
Who  hears  far  over  empty  seas  forlorn 
Their  music  sounding  ever  to  his  ear. 


17 


SONG,  THE  PILGRIM 

Vv  HITHER,  dear  Heart  of  Song,  wouldst  hold 

thy  way? 

Over  a  boundless  and  uncharted  deep, 
Or  over  rugged  mountains  high  and  steep 

Wouldst  thou  for  us  the  trails  and  courses  lay? 

How  hast  thou  shown  a  smiling  face  and  gay 
Lightheartedness,  though  needing  rest  and  sleep, 
Hast  spoken  cheerful  words  while  others  weep, 

And  tried  to  make  of  life  a  holiday! 

And  Song  has  traversed  more  than  all  the  earth, 
Has  never  had  a  chance  to  rest  his  feet 

Till  Pity's  self  was  haply  moved  to  tears; 
Yet  through  it  all  has  kept  a  voice  of  mirth, 
A  cheerful  tone  with  which  our  hearts  to  greet, 
A  youth  unfading  through  fast  aging  years. 


18 


THE  [CHORUS 

I  E  sweet- voiced  singers  of  the  earlier  time 
That  was  of  Poesy  the  Golden  Age 
When  Genius  set  upon  the  Athenian  stage, 

Of  thought  most  clear,  of  language  most  sublime, 

Harmonious  with  the  laws  of  rhythm  and  rhyme, 
Its  masterpieces  of  instruction  sage, 
How  Fate  and  human  Destiny  engage 

To  prosecute  forever  Guilt  and  Crime ; — 

Ye  choral  singers  singing  through  the  years, 
Ay,  through  the  centuries  unto  this  day, 

And  heard  upon  this  distant  western  shore ; 
How  happens  it  this  world  of  ours  appears 
No  wiser  than  was  your  world  in  its  way, 
That  guilt  and  crime  seem  nowise  less,  but 
more? 


19] 


THE  CHORAL  DANCE 

W  ITH  clasped  hands,  devoutly  circling  round 
An  altar  garlanded  with  myrtle  green, 
Fair  maids  in  honor  of  the  Cyprian  Queen 

Weave    festal    dance,    their    brows    with    myrtle 
crowned ; 

Their  feet  unsandalled  beat  the  grassy  ground 
To  music  made  by  rustic  Pan,  unseen, 
Piping  two  scraggy  olive  trees  between 

While  lithe  limbs  register  the  mystic  sound. 

Slowly  the  marble  crumbles  into  dust, 

The  chiseled  lines — so  delicate — grow  dim, 

And  flush  of  joy  from  maiden  cheeks  is  gone ; 
But  yet  those  lifelike,  graceful  figures  must 
Repeat  the  modulation  of  the  hymn 
As  here  the  happy  choral  dance  goes  on. 


20 


THE  DANCERS 

OAIL,  blithesome  dancers  on  the  village  green, 
At  eventide  when  in  the  glowing  west 
The  sun  has  gone  into  his  tent  for  rest, 

And  purple  mist  is  in  the  vales  between; — 

Hail,  ye  glad  dancers  now  as  gladly  seen 
In  handiwork  of  rustic  weavers  dressed — 
Now  is  the  piper  playing  at  his  best, 

And  parents  fond  are  looking  on  serene! 

How  has  the  artist  spared  no  practised  skill 
To  draw  your  figures  to  a  flowing  line, 

And  from  restraint  your  supple  limbs  release! 
The  dance  goes  on  while  alien  hands  now  fill 
This  decorated  amphora  with  wine, 
Nor  will  the  piper's  music  ever  cease. 


[21] 


IN  THOUGHT 

IN  thought  that  overpasses  bounds  of  space, 
Nor  heeds  of  time  if  it  be  now  or  then, 
That  brings  within  our  vision  yet  again 

What  in  far  ages  past  has  taken  place ; — 

In  thought  along  the  course  of  years  I  trace 
What  bold  adventures  have  been  made  by  men 
To  regions  that  were  held  mysterious  when 

The  world  was  new  and  when  was  new  the  race. 

Will  there  be  at  some  distant  future  date 
One  sentient  being  led  in  thought  along 

To  where  this  hour  his  halting-place  may  be, 
And  will  he  tarry  here  to  speculate 

What  is,  perhaps,  the  magic  charm  of  song 
That  to  its  sanctuary  beckons  me? 


[22 


NATURE'S  THOUGHT 

F  AR  from  the  noisy,  crowded  market-place, 
Here  in  the  silence  of  the  lonely  wood, 
Alone  with  Nature  in  her  solitude, 

I  search  the  secret  of  her  thought  to  trace 

In  varied  forms  of  leaf  and  flower  that  grace 
So  richly  tangled  thicket  where  intrude 
But  rarely  feet  of  men — to  find  her  mood 

Shown  in  the  smiles  and  tears  upon  her  face. 

A  sudden  strain  of  music  on  the  ear 

Comes  with  a  sense  of  freedom  and  of  power 

Such  as  to  minstrelsy  of  birds  belong ; 
Then  is  the  mystery  of  that  thought  made  clear, 
For  Nature  gives  the  charm  of  leaf  and  flower 
That  she  may  have  the  melody  of  song. 


[23] 


ONE  LITTLE  THOUGHT 

little  thought,  abiding  with  me  long, 
Has  been  content  in  friendly  heart  to  stay, 
Companion  of  my  dreams,  and  all  the  day 
At  my  heart's  door  singer  of  happy  song ; — 
One  little  thought  the  unskilled  Muse  would  wrong. 
Were  she  to  wed  this  to  a  common  lay, 
To  lead  it  forth  upon  the  public  way 
Where  common  thoughts  on  common  objects  throng. 

One  little  thought  but  precious  all — ah,  well! 

In  vain  were  my  attempt  to  set  it  free, 
Since  in  my  heart  of  hearts  fain  would  it  dwell 

And  all  of  life  would  fare  along  with  me ; 
Nay,  only  this  my  Muse  of  it  can  tell, 

That  little  thought,  dear  Love,  is  thought  of  thee. 


[24] 


ON  THE  INTERVALE 

1  HEY  spring  to  life  beneath  the  viewless  feet 
Of  breezes  wandering  up  or  down  between 
Two  low  hill-ranges  bordering  a  green 
Expanse  of  meadow ;  here  a  calm  retreat 
Where  fern-clad  slope  and  stream  each  other  greet ; 
The  waters  dallying  in  a  mood  serene 
Reflect  the  mirrored  beauty  of  the  scene, 
And  all  the  region  is  with  charm  replete. 

They  spring  to  life,  these  waves  upon  the  grass, 
These  ripples  running  with  them  on  the  stream 

As  if  had  land — and  water — spirits  met ; 
They  beat  a  rhythmic  measure  as  they  pass, 
A  vision  rises  as  in  idle  dream, 
We  hear  the  music  of  a  canzonet. 


25 


AT  DAYBREAK 

LxAY  comes  with  song — brown  thrushes  in  the 

wood, 

Red-breasted  robins  in  close  orchard  trees 
And  blackbirds  piping  merrily  with  these 

Wake  each  to  happiness  its  sleeping  brood ; 

There  is  a  call  of  little  ones  for  food, 

And  over  shadowed  fields  of  grass  one  sees 
Barn  swallows  circling  on  the  wing  with  ease, 

Repeating  their  short  creed  that  life  is  good. 

Day  comes  with  song  that  tells  of  happiness 
Among  these  humble  creatures  of  the  air, 

Whose  grateful  hearts  in  song  thus  overflow; 
Their  blended  voices  raise  a  hymn  to  bless 

The  gracious  Hand  that  gives  them  constant  care, 
And  makes  Heaven's  goodness  all  the  greater 
so. 


[26] 


IMPRISONMENT 

W  ITHIN  the  prison  of  its  cage  confined, 
The  captive  bird  sings  on  as  merrily 
As  when  it  sang  out  o'er  the  meadows — free, 

And  lavished  music  on  the  summer  wind ; 

Now,  to  this  forced  imprisonment  resigned, 
The  bird  does  not  abate  its  melody 
But  still  sings  on — heart-glad  in  memory 

Of  open  skies — these  gilded  bars  behind. 

The  soul  peers  out  through  avenues  of  sense, 
Dim-lighted  from  fond  smile  of  Heaven  above, 

On  boundless  universe  of  worlds  bestowed ; 
Though  burdened  with  deep  longing,  most  intense, 
It  wooes  with  song  companionship  of  Love 
And  of  a  dungeon  makes  a  blest  abode. 


[27] 


SILENCE 

OAY,  what  is  silence?     'Tis  a  passing  thought 
Of  what  is  left  to  us  from  pleasing  sound 
For  which  again  are  waiting  all  around, 

Repeating  that  last  strain,  but  hearing  naught 

Of  all  the  melody  the  morning  brought, 
On  field  and  forest  lies  a  spell  profound ; 
The  noontide  shadow,  sleeping  on  the  ground 

With  hush  of  summer  stillness,  guards  the  spot. 

Sometimes  upon  the  crowded  street  it  seems, 
Among  the  many  voices  that  we  hear, 

There  comes  to  us  a  long-remembered  tone; 
And  then,  as  in  the  vanishing  of  dreams, 
All  other  shapes  and  shadows  disappear, 
And  we  are  left  with  one  dear  friend  alone. 


28 


SILENCE  IN  MUSIC 

/\.  SHARE  in  music  silence  has  with  sound, 
The  flow  of  melody  runs  as  a  rill 
Runs  noisily  adown  the  sloping  hill, — 

Sometimes  in  laughter  as  with  sunshine  crowned, 

And  sometimes  idly  lingering  around 

Deep  pools  which  overhanging  willows  fill 
With  shadows ;  there  the  somber  waters  still 

Dream  of  their  coursing  in  a  sleep  profound. 

The  current  of  our  feeling  runs  not  long 
Without  increase  or  slackening  of  its  force, 

From  time  to  time  with  sweet  oblivion  blessed, 
Not  otherwise  it  must  be  with  our  song 

That,  changing  now  and  then  its  onward  course, 
Halts  by  the  willows  for  a  needed  rest. 


[29 


MAGIC  REEDS 

O  REEDS  on  which  the  god  of  shepherds  played 
While  shepherds  listened  with  delight  of  tears, 
Still  are  ye  musical  though  no  one  hears 

When  on  your  pipes  mute  lips  of  Eve  are  laid, 

The  delicate  sweet  harmonies  are  made, — 
Soft  melting  music  coming  to  our  ears ; 
We're  not  in  mood  of  shepherds,  it  appears, 

With  leaden  cares  our  hearts  are  over  weighed. 

Would  that  our  thoughts  might  let  us  sit  and  dream 
While  Evening  hushes  discords  of  the  day 

And  slowly  draws  thick  curtains  of  the  night; 
Then  might  we  hear  soft  lapsing  of  the  stream, 
Hear  you,  O  reeds,  upon  its  margin  say, 

"We  drink  that  music  with  how  deep  delight!" 


[30 


NATURE'S  HARMONIES 

11 OW  many  different  voices  Earth  can  raise, 
Together  chiming  varied  harmonies 
As  perfumes,  blended,  call  out  eager  bees 

From  busy  hives  and  lead  them  devious  ways 

O'er  meadow  grounds  through  slumberous  summer 

days; 

Aye  chiming  in  sweet  unison  are  these, 
Each  modulated  some  fond  heart  to  please, 

And  all  combined  to  sound  their  Maker's  praise! 

In  all  the  music  of  this  vocal  throng, 
Most  subtle  magic  of  enchanting  word, 

Loud  roar  of  waters  as  these  pour  along, 
Domestic  twittering  of  home-keeping  bird, 

In  volume  grand  of  Earth's  exultant  song 
Will  any  feeble  note  of  mine  be  heard? 


[31] 


THE  EMPTY  SHELL 

A.N  idle  boy,  at  play  upon  the  shore 
Of  the  mysterious  sea,  holds  to  his  ear 
An  empty-chambered  shell  that  he  may  hear 

Repeated  from  far  off  the  mighty  roar 

Of  billows,  long  incoming,  dashing  o'er 

Rough,  broken  ledges  rising  bold  and  sheer 
Against  the  ocean's  rage,  to  domineer 

Those  waters  turbulent  forevermore. 

If  he  were  asked  upon  what  curving  strand 
Continuously  the  sounding  billows  roll, 
It  were  not  easy  for  the  boy  to  tell ; 
Nor  is  it  easier  to  understand 

How  much  of  that  strange  rhythm  is  in  his  soul, 
How  little  of  it  echoed  from  the  shell. 


32 


THE  DRUID 

was  the  priestly  office  to  invoke 
Those  powers  spiritual  that  intervene 
Betwixt  material  things  and  those  unseen, 

What  once  were  gods  for  whom  did  altars  smoke ; 

As  if — interpreter  divine — he  spoke 

Explaining  what  the  heavenly  portents  mean 
And  what  are  whispered  secrets  of  the  green 

Umbrageous  leafage  of  time-hallowed  oak. 

Today  the  druid  enters  in  the  wood 

With  other  thoughts  than  those  of  fear  and  dread 

To  meet  his  own  soul's  kindred  spirit  there, 
The  peaceful  quiet  of  that  solitude 

Alarms  him  not — it  seems  to  him  instead 
The  holy  silence  of  unspoken  prayer. 


33] 


ACROSS  THE  CENTURIES 


S 


OME  gentle  singer,  in  an  age  unknown, 
Told  in  his  song  a  story  of  distress — 
A  tale  of  suffering  and  of  wretchedness, 

With  touch  of  human  pity  in  its  tone 

As  if  its  burden  had  been  his  alone ; 

Those  low  sad  notes  have  often  served  to  bless 
Poor  sorrowing  hearts  with  their  deep  tenderness 

Until  at  length  they  serve  to  move  mine  own. 

O  sweet- voiced  singer  of  a  far-off  past, 

I  know  not  of  what  land  or  tongue  thou  art, 

Yet  for  thy  deep  compassion  cherished  long ; 
Those  loving  notes  of  thine  have  come  at  last 
To  modulate  the  beating  of  my  heart ; — 

I  greet  thee,  "Brother!"  in  the  Realm  of  Song. 


[34] 


BELATED  HONORS 

V-iREEP,  Ivy,  creep  in  gentlest  quietude 
Across  the  poet's  tomb,  with  tendrils  green, 
Within  the  shade  where  drooping  willows  lean 

Above  the  sleeping  dead  in  mournful  mood ; 

Here,  where  the  poet  rests,  green  ivy  should 
In  close  embracing  of  gray  stone  be  seen 
Planted  and  trained  by  loving  hands  that  mean 

Thus  may  be  shown  their  lasting  gratitude; 

For,  while  he  lived,  the  Muses  gave  him  skill 
That  waked  the  lyre  to  sweetest  melody, 

And   what   they   taught,    their   docile   pupil 

learned ; 

Now  that  the  voice  is  hushed,  the  strings  are  still, 
There  should  be  given  to  his  memory 
Belated  honors  that  were  nobly  earned. 


35 


RELEASE 

1  HE  bird  that  has  been  in  strict  bondage  bred, 

Has  never  tasted  liberty — how  sweet! 

Is  always  ready  minstrel  to  repeat 
The  song,  for  singing  which  it  has  been  fed; 
Finds  life  that  is  in  calm  seclusion  led 

Flow  on  from  day  to  day  with  peace  replete 

As  life  of  anchorite  in  lone  retreat, 
Changeless  as  stars  are,  stationed  overhead. 

But  let  loud  singing  of  the  lark  be  heard, 
Outpouring  all  its  heart  in  ecstacy, 

The  memory  of  that  song  will  never  cease 
To  stir  to  fluttering  the  captive  bird, 
To  waken  native  longing  to  be  free, 

And  turn  its  song  to  pleading  for  release. 


[36] 


IN  THE  GALLERY 

great  the  gift  of  genius  was  his 
Whose  rich  creative  power  of  thought  could  trace 
What  in  the  calmness  of  this  lovely  face 

Repose  of  marble  meditation  is! 

This  look  has  kept  throughout  long  centuries 
The  artist's  fond  ideal  of  our  race, 
The  poet's  dream  of  loveliness  and  grace 

That  comes  to  him  in  realm  of  reveries. 

This  mild  expression  wins  me  from  before 
Statues  of  gods,  as  gods  were  held  of  old, 

And  groups  of  mythic  heroes,  gathered  here; 
This  face  of  quiet  beauty  charms  me  more 
Than  in  my  halting  measure  can  be  told ; — 
It  is  as  if  an  angel  should  appear. 


37 


NATURE'S  SYMPHONIES 

oMALL  part,  indeed,  of  Nature's  symphonies 
Comes  to  the  dull,  the  inattentive  ear 
Of  him  who  is  indifferent  to  hear 

Sweet  song  of  birds,  soft  murmuring  of  bees, 

Low  whispering  of  pine  tops  to  the  breeze, 
Rustling  of  Autumn's  raiment  brown  and  sere, 
Bold  Winter's  challenge  ringing  loud  and  clear 

To  match  for  music  Summer's  melodies. 

Our  own  the  blame;  we  fail  to  cultivate 
What  faculties  were  given  us  at  birth 

The  true  to  hear,  the  beautiful  to  see ; 
Our  thought,  to  selfish  uses  dedicate, 

Neglects  to  note  the  friendliness  of  Earth 
And  lacks  at  last  the  broadened  sympathy. 


38 


TRIUMPH  OF  SONG 

1  HE  stone,  inscribed,  is  slowly  ground  to  dust, 
High  granite  walls,  laid  up  by  mortal  hand, 
Will  crumble  down  into  coarse  desert  sand, 

Memorial  bronze  will  be  consumed  by  rust; 

All  work,  except  that  done  by  Nature,  must 
Tend  to  decay;  however  wisely  planned 
And  strongly  built,  the  structure  cannot  stand; 

To  things  material  we  cannot  trust. 

Only  the  Spirit  builds  to  outlast  time, 

For  this  one  purpose  using  human  thought, 

Possessing  truth  that  lives  through  ages  long ; 
With  this  erects  an  edifice  sublime 

On  which  Fame's  noblest  eulogies  are  wrought, 
And  herein  find  we  triumph  grand  of  Song. 


39 


MINSTRELSY  UNHEARD 

of  my  soul,  O  thou  that  leadest  me 
Into  the  rich  and  wide  domain  of  Song, 
Taking  a  solitary  way  along 

Some  meadow  stream  that  winds  down  to  the  sea, 
Flooding  its  reedy  banks  with  melody, 

How  should  I  do  those  gentle  spirits  wrong 
Who  to  these  festivals  of  Nature  throng, 
Were  I  at  such  a  time  to  sing  to  thee! 

Heart  of  my  heart,  here  let  us  rest  the  while 
We  listen  for  that  minstrelsy  unheard 

Except  by  those  who  reverently  come ; 
Here  now  will  Nature  greet  us  with  a  smile, 
Nor  shall  we  find  occasion  for  a  word ; — 
In  adoration  souls  devout  are  dumb. 


[40 


PAN 

W  HEN  Heaven  at  first,  in  all-embracing  plan, 
Provided  means  by  which  the  human  soul 
Should  rise  through  effort  to  its  destined  goal, 

Attain  angelic  dignity  in  man, 

Then  numbers  in  harmonious  strains  began 
To  rule  his  steps,  his  conduct  to  control — 
Round  his  completed  life  to  perfect  whole 

Under  the  kindly  tutelage  of  Pan. 

Pan  led  the  winds  along  bright  meadow  stream 
Whose  running  waters  wakened  vocal  reeds, 

He  posted  Echo  halfway  up  the  hill ; 
Sang  to  the  sleeping  shepherd  in  his  dream 
Such  music  as  an  upward  climbing  leads 
The  Soul  Heaven's  highest  purpose  to  fulfill. 


[41] 


DEATH  OF  PAN 

UF  pagan  gods  was  Pan  the  last  to  die, 
And  when  he  died,  off  Parga's  rocky  shore, 
Those  sparkling  blue  Illyrian  waters  o'er 

Came  from  the  hills — long  shepherded — the  cry, 

"Great  Pan  is  dead!"  beneath  the  open  sky, 
On  sunny  slopes  were  shepherd  choirs  no  more 
Heard  singing  choral  measures  as  of  yore, 

The  best  of  shepherds  thus  to  glorify. 

Went  out  of  human  life  a  joy  that  day 
That  never  will  on  earth  again  be  known, 
Gladness  produced  by  simple  harmony, 
The  heart  contented  on  the  hills  to  stay, 
To  take  the  summer  beauty  as  its  own 
And  of  the  summer  sounds  make  melody. 


42 


FAUNS 

V>/NE  faun  sits  piping  in  the  ample  shade 
By  outstretched  arms  of  oak  thrown  on  the 

ground, 
Soothes  midday  into  silence,  while  around 

Stand  others  hearing  music  that  is  made 

Upon  the  vocal  reed  so  fondly  played; 
Charmed  by  the  simple  melody  of  sound, 
Life  is  their  blessing,  with  delight  is  crowned — 

Exile  from  Eden  being  yet  delayed. 

All  this  upon  the  pitcher  at  the  well 

To  show  what  happy  thought  the  artist  had 

When  came  this  vessel  from  the  potter's  wheel 
He  found  in  this  design  the  means  to  tell 
How  little  do  we  need  to  make  us  glad 

When  we  for  simple  art  have  learned  to  feel. 


43 


THE  SILENT  MUSE 

INTO  the  august  presence  of  his  chief 
Strode  suddenly  Achilles,  bluff  and  rude, 
Of  temper  passionate,  in  angry  mood, 

His  words,  discourteous,  were  sharp  and  brief, 

Scarce  had  he  given  his  pent-up  wrath  relief 
When  he  was  conscious  close  behind  him  stood 
Athena  in  her  peerless  maidenhood; 

He  turned — was  silent  for  his  shame  and  grief. 

So  are  the  brave  notes  of  the  singer  stilled 
With  realizing  he  at  length  has  come 

The  unimpassioned  Silent  Muse  before, 
His  ardent  soul  with  icy  breath  is  filled, 
The  lips  that  have  been  jubilant  are  dumb, 
And  song  of  his  will  be  heard  nevermore. 


44 


LAURIGER 

OF  old  the  flutist,  playing  airs  divine 

In  honor  of  Apollo,  went  before 

The  Grecian  youth  who  bough  of  laurel  bore 
From  Tempe's  vale  to  Delphi's  honored  shrine, 
Due  offering  to  Art's  patron  and  a  sign 

Of  fealty  to  ancient  mythic  lore, 

Immortal  praises  of  the  god  that  pour 
Triumphantly  along  the  Dorian  line. 

This  was  a  fitting  tribute  to  the  powers 
That  ruled  of  Greece  the  highest  destinies 

And  for  her  fashioned  splendid  forms  of  art ; 
And  nobler  yet  it  makes  this  task  of  ours, 

To  lead  through  brighter  meads  of  song  than 

these 
The  rhythmic  overflowings  of  the  heart. 


45 


ANGELS'  VISITS 

longer  do  men  listen  well  to  hear 
Angelic  voices  singing  hymns  of  praise, 
Nor  do  men  as  in  patriarchal  days 
Expect  an  angel  at  their  tent  appear 
When  are  in  dimness  blended  far  and  near, 

When  stars  come  out  with  friendly  smiling  rays 
To  light  the  pilgrim  on  deserted  ways, 
Late  seeking  shelter,  seeking  rest  and  cheer. 

No,  we  have  tried  to  measure  infinite  space, 

Have  sought  for  sources  whence  do  centuries  flow, 

Left  unobserved  small  garden  of  the  heart ; 
So  does  it  happen  that  we  cannot  trace 

Short  paths  by  which  God's  angels  come  and  go ; 
Heaven  lying  from  us  so  small  space  apart! 


46 


AT  WHEEL  AND  LOOM 

INDUSTRIOUSLY  the  maiden  at  her  wheel 
Spins  flaxen  fibers  that  are  smooth  and  strong 
Into  a  shining  thread  where  none  goes  wrong, 

The  work  directed  by  her  fingers'  feel, 

And  when  is  distaff  bare,  the  twirling  reel 

Winds  off  the  knotted  skein,  while  all  day  long 
Her  work  goes  to  the  measure  of  a  song 

That  tells  of  lives  were  noble,  hearts  were  leal. 

While  busy  matron  at  her  weaving  plies 
Her  shuttle  as  the  swallow  skims  the  plain 
A  rhythmic  maze  describing  in  the  sun; 
We  hear  the  shuttle  singing  as  it  flies, 
Accompanied  by  a  familiar  strain ; 

The  songs  of  maid  and  matron  are  but  one. 


47] 


THE  SCROLL 

1J.OW  little  of  man's  craftsmanship  remains 
From  times  remote,  from  half -forgotten  lands, 
That  kept  employed  so  many  toiling  hands 

On  palaces,  strong  fortresses  and  fanes, 

King's  coffers  filling  up  with  hoarded  gains! 
Now  only  worn  and  broken  column  stands, 
All  else  reduced  to  loosely-winnowed  sands 

More  widely  spreading  out  bare  desert  plains. 

More  is  there  left  to  us  of  ancient  thought, 
Ethereal  fabrics  of  the  poet's  mind 
And  lofty  visions  of  heroic  soul  ; 
All  these  in  words  of  full-toned  music  brought, 
In  mellowed  sweetness  of  the  years,  we  find 
Inscribed  upon  this  worn  and  faded  scroll. 


48 


THE  QUIETIST 

1  HE  moving  lips  are  mute,  the  voice  is  dumb, 
No  words  of  prayer  in  trembling  accents  rise 
On  bated  breath — unheard  the  tender  sighs 

Of  adoration  and  of  faith  that  from 

A  bosom  all  of  sweet  desire  come; 

All  are  as  silent  as  those  brimming  eyes 
Within  whose  depths  a  heaven  reflected  lies, 

Of  peace  and  joy — of  happiness  the  sum. 

It  may  be  that  the  Quietist,  in  fond 

And  deep  devotion  to  the  Heavenly  Power, 
Unto  the  throne  of  God  comes  very  near, 
Or  that  some  angel,  from  the  world  beyond, 
Bends  over  him  in  this  ecstatic  hour 

And  to  his  unvoiced  longing  lends  an  ear. 


49 


THE  MYSTIC 

1  HE  world  may  vanish;  with  it  every  sun 
Be  blotted  out  in  darkness  absolute; 
The  stars  in  spheral  courses  may  be  mute — 

Stars  vocal  since  creation  was  begun; 

The  planets  with  the  earth  may  cease  to  run, 
All  motion  stop,  its  forces  to  recruit 
And  of  its  labors  gather  up  the  fruit, 

And  Nature  may  proclaim  her  purpose  done ; 

But  yet  there  stands  the  universe  the  same 
Unto  the  mystic's  gaze  as  'twas  before, — 

That  which  has  vanished  empty  was  and  vain 
There  always  will  be  wherewithal  to  frame 
A  universe  of  light  and  praise  once  more 
So  long  as  truth  and  reason  shall  remain. 


50 


SUGGESTION 

W  HO  hears  the  ringing  of  the  vesper  bell 
Come  over  waters  from  far  miles  away 
And  on  the  silence  of  the  evening  lay 

Of  Sabbath  stillness  the  entrancing  spell, 

Finds  not  in  mortal  speech  the  power  to  tell 
What  mild  enchantment  of  the  spirit  may 
The  finer  feelings  of  his  being  sway, 

And  cause  the  sympathetic  tears  to  well. 

So  near  they  come,  and  yet  from  source  how  far, 
Those  thoughts  that  meet  us  when  at  eventide 

We  walk  abroad  and  deem  ourselves  alone! 
Unconscious  of  their  coming  as  we  are 

And  startled  thus  to  find  them  at  our  side, 
We  yet  see  they  are  kindred  to  our  own. 


[51] 


OUR  EXEMPTION 

V-lUR  world  is  one  of  music  and  of  song; 

The  rivers  in  their  journeying  to  the  sea 

Make,  on  their  downward  course,  continually 
A  low,  sweet  murmur  as  they  rush  along ;  . 
The  winds  come  from  the  hills,  too,  blowing  strong 

Through  pine  tops  that  are  stringed  for  min- 
strelsy, 

With  unfelt  touches  wake  to  melody 
Soul-haunting  measures  that  have  slumbered  long. 

We  need  but  listen,  to  those  notes  give  heed, 
Lend  ear  unto  the  voice  of  flood  and  wood, 
Weave  into  rhythmic  strain  the  sounds  they 

bring; 

Of  our  own  labored  work  there  is  no  need, 
Our  tones  are  harsh,  our  composition  rude, 
No  reason  is  there  we  should  try  to  sing. 


52 


GIPSIES 

1  HE  gay,  light-hearted  players  to  the  sun 
With  singing  fill  the  hours  as  these  pass, 
Keep  up  their  ceaseless  chirping  in  the  grass, 

Ten  thousand  crickets  with  the  voice  of  one; 

They  take  no  note  of  when  the  day  is  done 

More  than  the  sand  which,  running  in  the  glass, 
Marks  when  an  hour  of  sunshine  ends,  alas! 

And  when  another  cycle  is  begun. 

So  passes  life  beneath  the  open  sky 
Among  the  children  of  a  homeless  race 

Whose  history  is  not  of  months  and  years ; 
Whose  plans  and  purposes  are  bounded  by 
No  limits  definite  of  time  and  place, 

But  by  the  light  and  shade  of  smiles  and  tears. 


[53] 


THE  PITY 

11 OW  great  the  pity  any  hearts  are  sad 
When  so  much  beauty  in  the  world  is  found, 
The  heavens  by  day  and  night  with  splendor 
crowned ; 

The  woods  and  orchards  all  with  singing  glad, 

The  sloping  fields  and  meadows  richly  clad, 

Sweet-scented  violets  springing  from  the  ground ; 
From  smiling  scenes  and  melody  around 

So  much  of  joy  in  living  to  be  had! 

How  great  the  cheerless  pity  is  that  we 
Who  have  unfailing  sources  of  delight 

Should  make  our  dwelling  in  a  vale  of  tears; 
Should  never  lift  our  eyes  above  to  see 
How  in  the  glory  of  creation  bright 

Most  strangely  wonderful  our  world  appears! 


[54] 


MUSIC  UNCONDITIONED 

1  HERE  would  be  music  though  were  no  one  near 
To  listen  to  glad  singer's  merry  note 
Of  joy  in  living,  sung  from  tuneful  throat 

Of  happy  bird  whose  voice  rings  loud  and  clear; 

For  if  there  were  no  human  soul  to  hear 
That  simple  song,  repeated  as  by  rote, 
There  would  yet  be  some  faithful  heart  to  dote 

Upon  the  singing  of  a  mate  most  dear. 

Earth  has  her  choir  of  voices  trained  to  raise 
Glad  matin  song  of  greeting  and  of  cheer, 

Sweet  evensong  to  charm  the  world  to  rest; 
And  were  the  world  to  lack  these  songs  of  praise, 
There  would  be  silence  deep  in  which  to  hear 
Far  spheral  music,  and  mankind  were  blest. 


55 


SORROW'S  SERVICE 

1  HE  workman  having  forged  a  shapely  blade 
And  having  polished  this  upon  the  wheel, 
Engraves  upon  the  brightly  glittering  steel 

Some  text  of  honor,  pledge  of  duty  made 

To  king  or  country,  worthy  homage  paid 

At  shrine  of  beauty,  where  do  champions  kneel ; 
Then  is  the  heated  sabre  made  to  feel 

The  chill  of  waters  its  slight  form  invade. 

When  Heaven  has  sent  a  poet  soul  to  dwell 
Upon  the  earth  for  man's  allotted  years, 
No  further  grace  is  left  for  soul  to  ask; 
But  it  has  been  ordained  by  Heaven  as  well 
That  fervid  soul  should  be  baptized  in  tears 
To  be  attempered  to  its  nobler  task. 


[56] 


BY  THE  STREAM 


Wi 


E  watch  the  river  on  its  seaward  course 
Sweep   round   the   headland   with   its   current 

strong, 

And  at  the  rocky  narrows  rush  along, 
Leap  down  the  ledges  with  increasing  force ; 
We  hear  the  river's  voice  from  murmuring  hoarse 
Fall  to  the  gentle  cadence  of  a  song 
Where  with  the  wind-blown  reeds  it  lingers  long ; 
We  see  not  how  it  gets  back  to  its  source. 

Day  follows  day  into  remoteness  vast 
As  runs  the  rapid  river  to  the  sea, 

They  vanish  like  the  vision  of  a  dream ; 
But  when  the  days  of  morn  and  eve  are  past 
Into  the  measureless  eternity, 

We  then  shall  know  whence  issues  forth  the 
stream. 


[57] 


WINGED  WORDS 

VjUICK  words  are  spoken  in  reproof  of  wrong, 
Brave  words  are  boldly  uttered  in  debate 
Where  men  are  gathered  to  deliberate, 

And  where  runs  party  spirit  deep  and  strong ; 

Words  that  have  lived  in  hearts  of  people  long, 
Made  vital  with  the  spirit  of  the  great, 
Serenely  bearing  sentiments  of  weight, 

Or  made  immortal,  woven  into  song; 

Such  words  with  keenness  of  the  Indian's  dart, 
And  feathered  with  the  lightest  plumes  of  wit, 
Speed  as  through  storm-cloud  flash  the  light- 
ning flames; 

Such  words,  escaping  from  the  speaker's  heart, 
Unerring  in  their  flight,  are  bound  to  hit 

The  mark,  though  far,  at  which  the  speaker 
aims. 


[58] 


INSCRIBED 

JjESIDE  the  mighty,  onward-flowing  Nile 
The  pyramids  in  silent  mystery  stand, 
Their  thought,  in  Egypt's  lonely  waste  of  sand, 

Inscrutable  as  is  of  Sphinx  the  smile, 

On  sculptured  face  of  most  majestic  pile 
A  poet's  lines  are  traced  by  Roman  hand ; 
Two  thousand  years  have   passed  in  pageant 
grand, 

But  yet  their  tender  feeling  lives  the  while. 

We  know  not  who  designed  the  pyramid, 
Who  ordered  to  their  task  the  Egyptian  host, 

What  secret  in  its  darkened  crypt  lies  hid, 

Of  what  proud  deed  its  pictured  chambers  boast ; 

But  here  in  poet's  phrase  a  stranger  did 

Record  his  grief  for  what  the  heart  had  lost. 


59 


PERSIA'S  POET 

BENEATH  full  splendor  of  the  desert  skies 
That  border  empty  Persian  sands  around, 
Within  scant  shadow  of  acacia  found 

The  poet  of  all  doubt  and  unfaith  lies 

And  dreams  a  heart-sufficing  Paradise ; 
The  cares  of  life  in  draughts  Lethean  drowned, 
His  wrinkled  brow  with  Bacchic  ivy  crowned, 

He  drains  his  jug  of  wine  Silenus-wise. 

So  has  the  World  through  all  the  ages  tried 
To  ease  the  aching  heart,  the  troubled  soul, 

And  deem  itself  with  present  pleasures  blest ; 
But  when  of  sorrow  comes  the  whelming  tide, 
Along  the  shores  of  life  its  billows  roll 

And  sweep  that  frothy  reasoning  with  the  rest. 


60] 


OMAR  KHAYYAM 

1  GET  of  life,  who  fortunately  found 

A  little  garden  in  a  desert  place, 

Where  grew  at  hand  the  Muses'  herb-o'-grace, 
And  only  was  "the  Wilderness"  around, 
And  where  of  life  was  heard  not  any  sound 

Except  the  bulbuTs  notes  to  interlace 

Light  tinkling  waters  in  the  fountain  vase — 
A  melody  with  reverent  silence  crowned! 

Thy  quaint  philosophy  we  ponder  well 
And  wonder  if  its  scheme  we  understand, 

If  its  elusive  spirit  we  have  caught ; 
Still  do  thy  softly-cadenced  verses  tell 
To  those  who  read  them  in  an  alien  land 
The  life  immortal  of  poetic  thought. 


61 


THE  PAGAN  WORLD 

1  HE  Pagan  World  lived  nearer  to  the  Source 
Of  Life  than  we ;  it  reverently  heard 
Low  whispering  pine  tops,  sweetly  singing  bird, 

Wild  winds  at  play  with  ocean  breakers  hoarse, 

In  fancy  followed  them  upon  their  course ; 
With  sense  of  awe  the  pagan  soul  was  stirred, 
In  adoration  listened  for  the  Word 

That  should  command  all  elemental  Force. 

But  we  today  are  all  intent  to  find 

What  power  is  slumbering  on  in  beds  of  ore, 

To  our  own  use  feed  sacrificial  flame ; 
We  strive  avenging  wrath  of  Jove  to  bind 
To  menial  service,  wasting  Nature's  store, 

Regardless  from  what  Hand  the  bounty  came. 


62 


ON  THE  SACRED  WAY 

V-/UT  from  Athena's  city,  violet-crowned, 
Went  men  and  women  in  procession  long 
With  piping  shrill  and  with  melodious  song. 

Unblemished  offerings  with  fillets  bound 

Were  led  in  front,  and  maidens  danced  around; 
Black-bearded  priests  were    mingled    with   the 

throng, 
Repeating  praises  as  they  moved  along 

The  Eleusinian  way  to  holy  ground. 

And  evermore  mankind  are  going  forth 
Along  the  sinuous  boundaries  of  time, 

Some  sacred  shrine  of  worship  yet  their  goal ; 
They  count  that  day  the  one  of  greatest  worth 
That  brings  to  them  a  vision  more  sublime; 
Brings  into  view  bright  City  of  the  Soul. 


63 


HEAD  OF  APHRODITE 

1  HOUGH  mute  these  lips  of  marble,  yet  they 

speak 

What  in  the  lofty  artist  soul  was  thought 
What  time  the  hand  of  sculptor  fondly  wrought 

Unfading  youth  upon  that  brow  and  cheek; 

No  further  mystery  need  any  seek 

Of  sudden  rapturous  feeling  that  was  caught 
For  that  sweet  loveliness  by  Genius  brought 

Upon  those  lips  that  are  divinely  Greek. 

Ah!  would  it  be  some  whispered  word  of  love, 
Framed  to  awake  delight  of  mortal  ear, 

If  only  power  of  utterance  had  been  given? 
Or  would  it  be  some  simple  strain  above 
Our  unaccustomed  sense  of  sound  to  hear, 

Some  missing  note  kept  in  reserve  for  Heaven? 


[64 


HELLAS 

A.FAR  from  us,  beyond  the  ocean  wide, 
Beyond  abode  of  famed  Hesperides, 
Bathed  by  the  waters  of  Ionian  seas, 

Lies  Hellas  glittering  in  translucent  tide, 

Her  storied  plains  and  mountains  glorified 
In  song  by  her  heroic  memories 
Of  valor  shown  by  sons  defending  these ; 

By  noble  sons  who  for  her  freedom  died. 

So  is  it  Hellas  lives  for  us  today, 

A  splendid  monument  to  valor's  worth 

Wherever  man  for  truth  and  victory  strives ; 
An  inspiration  to  mankind  for  aye 

While  Right  must  be  maintained  upon  the  earth, 
And  Liberty  outvalues  human  lives. 


[65 


ORPHEUS 

VxRPHEUS,  the  minstrel,  by  his  unmatched  skill, 
Ruled  Hermes'  lyre  that  its  chords  vibrate 
In  melody,  charm  keeper  of  Hell's  gate 

To  dull  forgetfulness  of  duty,  fill 

Dim  courts  of  Pluto  with  his  music  till 
Lord  of  the  dead  his  rigor  should  abate, 
Allow  the  singer  to  reclaim  his  mate 

And  let  the  fond  wife  follow  at  her  will. 

Ah,  happy  both,  had  he  but  kept  in  mind 
The  one  condition  of  their  blessedness, 

And  held  his  gaze  toward  realms  of  genial  light ; 
But  Love,  unthinking,  made  him  look  behind 
Upon  the  face  that  was  his  life  to  bless 
Only  to  find  it  fading  out  of  sight. 


66] 


EURYDICE 

1  HE  saddest  page  in  Love's  sad  history 
Is  that  which  tells  how  by  the  magic  charm 
Of  his  sweet  music  Orpheus  did  disarm 

Hell's  guardian  beast  of  his  ferocity; 

And  how  he  came  to  where  Persephone, 
With  Pluto  reigning,  trembled  in  alarm — 
By  song  and  lyre  he  soothed  all  dread  of  harm, 

Won  back  to  life  his  lost  Eurydice. 

By  one  condition  only  were  they  bound, 
The  pair  returning  to  their  native  skies ; — 

He  should  not  turn  as  he  went  on  before. 
With  happiness  existence  would  be  crowned ; — 
If  they  could  look  into  each  other's  eyes, 
Hell  were  itself  a  Heaven  evermore. 


[67] 


SONG'S  HERITAGE 

W  HEN  Orpheus  died,  was  lost  the  magic  skill 
That  led  his  hand  along  the  trembling  wire, 
While  this,  accordant  with  the  heart's  desire, 

Rang  out  responsive  to  the  player's  will, 

Mute  to  remain — those  tuneful  strings — until 
Apollo  should  take  up  the  fallen  lyre, 
Again  its  tones  with  melody  inspire, 

Again  with  magic  touch  its  being  thrill. 

What  was  at  first  of  mortal  origin 
Came  to  immortal  heritage  at  length, 

Yet  was  upon  the  earth  allowed  to  stay ; 
So  is  it  that  the  nobler  arts  begin, 

Favor  of  gracious  Muses  gives  them  strength, 
And  Heaven's  indulgence  grants  us  them  for 
aye. 


68 


MELPOMENE 

OAD  was  she  called — the  Muse  of  lyric  verse, 
Gifted  with  song,  sweet- voiced  Melpomene, 
When  she  was  called  the  chorister  to  be, 

To  help  the  players  on  the  stage  rehearse 

Woes  of  the  house  of  Laius  even  worse 
Than  was  of  Priam's  house  the  destiny 
When  Troy  to  ruin  fell,  in  misery 

Did  envious  Fate  the  royal  queen  submerse. 

Ill-fortuned  Song  that  should  have  led  the  dance 
When  were  the  purple  grapes  of  autumn  pressed, 

When  vintagers  kept  their  high  festival ; 
On  sacred  days  should  have  gone  in  advance 
Of  victims  with  pure  snowy  fillets  dressed, 
To  loftier  feelings  have  inspired  all! 


69 


ATYS 

11 OW  close  the  kinship  of  our  mortal  race 
With  flowers  that  blossom  in  the  early  spring, 
These  into  life  a  breath  of  incense  bring 

And  give  a  wealth  of  beauty  to  the  place! 

How  gladly  would  we  keep  their  gentle  grace — 
Charms  of  the  sense  that  close  about  them  cling, 
Delay  the  season  of  their  withering 

And  fold  them  in  Affection's  fond  embrace! 

Upon  this  law  does  myth  of  Atys  rest ; 

The  great  Earth-Mother  wished  him  for  her  own 

While  to  a  human  love  his  heart  was  true ; 
His  body  sleeps  upon  the  Mother's  breast, 
But  from  his  blood  have  purple  violets  grown 
With  every  year  to  pay  Love's  vows  anew. 


70 


NIOBE 

O  WOMAN,  thou  of  suffering  hadst  known 
More  than  is  given  to  mortal  heart  to  share, 
And  heavier  woe  than  human  soul  could  bear, 

Wast  blessed  by  favor  of  the  gods  alone 

In  sorrowing  to  grieve  thyself  to  stone! 

O'er  this  the  trickling  streams  deep  furrows  wear, 
Whose  channels  show  grief  immemorial  there, 

Thus  symbolizing  stifled  sob  and  groan. 

Whether  it  be  that  once  relenting  Fate 
In  pity  of  a  mother's  broken  heart 

Did  grant  to  her  this  measure  of  relief ; 
Today  there  stands  by  the  disconsolate 
Thy  figure  made  familiar  in  our  art 

To  show  how  old  is  our  most  recent  grief. 


[71] 


PSYCHE 

A.S  when  do  buds  upon  the  orchard  trees 
Waken  to  beauty  on  the  April  air 
To  find  the  world  about  them  is  how  fair, 

How  sweet  the  breathing  of  the  April  breeze, 

How  musical  the  murmuring  of  bees! 

A  flush  of  gladness  mantles  branches  bare 
As  though  some    consciousness    were    wakened 
there, 

Of  new-created  sovereign  power  to  please. 

So  was  it  Psyche  wakened  once  to  find 
The  world  about  her  beautiful  and  bright, 
Welcomed  herself  so  smilingly  to  earth ; 
She  scarcely  dreamed  that  graces  of  the  mind 
Crown  all  creative  effort  with  delight — 
All  Nature  gladdened  by  that  happy  birth. 


72 


PSYCHE  AND  PROSERPINA 

IT  is  a  spacious,  dimly-lighted  sphere 
Without  a  sun,  a  moon,  or  any  star 
To  make  distinction  between  near  and  far 

In  space  or  time — eternity  the  year — 

Two  presences  upon  the  way  appear, 
The  one  is  Ceres'  child,  Proserpina, 
Brought  hither  once  in  Pluto's  ghostly  car 

And  made  the  queen  of  unfleshed  spirits  here ; 

The  other,  Psyche  from  the  world  above; 

And  each  to  each  had  these  two  been  well  known 
When  they  were  playmates,  living  on  the  earth ; 
Now  are  they  drawn  together  by  the  love 
No  less  by  their  long  separation  grown ; 
They  bless  and  pity  each  the  other's  birth. 


73 


PYGMALION 

U  PON  the  formless  stone  Pygmalion  wrought 

To  realize  the  ideal  of  his  mind, 

From  day  to  day  strove  patiently  to  find 
That  excellence  of  beauty  which  he  sought, 
A  passing  glimpse  of  which  his  soul  had  caught 

Upon  the  background  of  his  faith  outlined ; 

Celestial  grace  to  human  love  inclined, 
But  yet  beyond  the  grasp  of  human  thought. 

The  chisel  falls,  the  sculptor's  work  is  done, 
The  grace  and  comeliness  of  woman  stand 

Before  him — reason  reels  from  love  and  joy! 
Alas,  that  triumph  such  as  this  is  won! 
Were  it  not  better  that  the  artist  hand 
Its  cunning  had  forgotten  to  employ? 


74] 


ATHENA 

1*  ROM  brain  of  Zeus  the  prudent  goddess  springs, 
Equipped  for  war  and  most  divinely  fair, 
Her  realm  the  spacious  field  of  ambient  air 

Which  round  the  earth  in  folds  transparent  clings, 

Soft  meadow  breeze,  the  fanning  of  her  wings 
On  which  she  comes  at  times  of  weighty  care 
To  bid  the  rash  adventurer  beware, 

Or  comfort  of  sustaining  courage  brings. 

What  matters  it  we  may  not  see  the  maid 
As  she  was  seen  of  old  on  field  of  strife, 

Feel  her  restraining  as  did  Thetis'  son? 
Who  goes  to  shrine  of  Duty  unafraid, 
To  Wisdom  gives  full  measure  of  his  life, 
Enjoys  at  last  the  triumph — victory  won. 


DIONYSUS 

W  HO  was  the  god  of  life — those  hidden  springs 
Of  vital  forces  that  in  Nature  dwell — 
He  was  the  sovereign  lord  of  death  as  well, 

Destroying  utterly  that  which  life  brings ; 

Yet  this  divinity  of  mystic  things 

So  widely  separate  as  heaven  and  hell, 
Threw  over  souls  of  worshippers  a  spell 

Inspiring  what  the  minstrel  artist  sings. 

So  is  it  that  the  round  of  life  is  made 
As  in  the  circle  of  a  choral  dance 

Around  the  secret  Eleusinian  shrine ; 
The  noblest  enterprise  by  man  essayed, 
His  betterment  in  spirit  to  advance, 

Comes  from  his  feeling  life  and  death  divine. 


76 


THE  CARYATIDES 

1  HEY  bear  the  burden  of  high  pediment, 
These  marble  figures  of  the  woman  slave ; 
Upon  their  heads  the  heavy  architrave 
Rests  evermore — the  years  will  not  relent ; 
And  yet,  as  with  a  gift  they  had  been  sent 
To  sacred  shrine,  these  women  duly  grave 

Now  bear  themselves  in  bondage  strong  and 

brave, 
The  step  aye  steady  and  the  neck  unbent. 

Ye  archetypal  women,  doomed  to  bear 

All  burdens,  without  murmuring,  patiently, 
As  these  are  portioned  by  unfeeling  Fate ; 
Ye  have  the  grace  in  wretchedness  to  wear 
High  look  of  dauntless  courage  and  to  be 
Chief  ornament  of  temple  and  of  state. 


[77] 


PAEAN 

healing,  O  Apollo,  on  the  rays 
Of  Morning  as  she  climbs  far  eastern  hills! 
Send  healing  of  the  many  grievous  ills 

Our  people  suffer  these  unhappy  days! 

Send  healing,  thou,  and  grateful  hands  shall  raise 
An  altar  to  thee,  whereon  myrrh  distils 
A  fragrance  that  thy  grove  and  temple  fills, 

While  round  the  shrine  we  chant  a  hymn  of  praise." 

Such  was  the  cry  of  poor  hearts  in  distress 
When  Pestilence,  unseen  in  noonday  light, 
Walked  by  the  side  of  helot  and  of  king ; 
The  people  had  their  simple  faith  to  bless 
Their  aching  hearts — faith  in  Apollo's  might 
And  in  his  readiness  relief  to  bring. 


78 


CYDIPPE'S  PRAYER 

1  WAS  Argos'  festival,  of  all  the  year 
The  day  to  Here's  worship  dedicate, 
Then  Argive  people  thronged  her  temple  gate, 

Impatient  for  her  priestess  to  appear ; 

Her  car  should  have  been  drawn  by  sacred  steer 
With  fillets  decorated — when  too  late 
Her  two  sons,  running  at  their  swiftest  rate, 

Triumphantly  drew  their  fond  mother  here. 

When  were  the  sacred  rites  of  worship  brought 
To  close,  Cydippe  stood  in  silent  prayer 

That  Here  send  her  sons  what  gift  was  best; 
Then  in  the  temple's  shaded  porch  she  sought 
Her  tired  children — found  them  sleeping  there 
Death's  dreamless  slumber — they  were  richly 
blessed. 


[79] 


UP  PARNASSUS 

15UT    little  way  upon  this  toilsome  road 

Our  steps  have  brought  us  toward  our  destined 
goal, 

How  much  is  left  untraveled  of  the  whole 
We  planned  when  first  into  this  path  we  strode! 
Not  knowing  then  how  burdensome  a  load 

Of  care  we  took;  how  heavy  was  the  dole; 

Were  disappointments  to  o'erwhelm  the  soul; 
What  duties  were  to  ancient  usage  owed. 

Now  that  we've  come  to  feel  our  work  a  task, 
To  find  the  path  grow  steeper  day  by  day, 
Aye  lengthening  with  the  shadows  growing 

long, 

Of  our  attendant  Muse  we  only  ask 
She  let  us  halt  at  times  along  the  way 
And  cheer  us  with  a  soul-inspiring  song. 


80 


TRAGEDY 

OOW  have  we  watched  the  swift  cloud  shadows 

run, 

Light-footed,  these  bright  summer  meadows  o'er, 
As  if  they  fled  in  merry  mood  before 

The  close-pursuing  laughter  of  the  sun, 

Until  at  last  of  shadows  there  was  one 
Was  heavy  with  dark  threatenings  it  bore, 
With  wind,  with  hail,  the  deep-voiced  thunder's 
roar, 

And  when  this  had  gone  by  was  ruin  done. 

So  on  the  stage  of  human  life  do  we 

Of  Fortune  watch  the  alternate  smile  and  frown, 

See  either  for  short  victory  compete ; 
And  when  the  sport  of  cruel  Fate  is  he 
Who  has  put  on  the  long-desired  crown, 
Then  is  the  work  of  Ruin  most  complete. 


[81] 


ENDYMION 

sleeps  Endymion  in  the  Latmian  cave 
In  all  the  freshness  of  his  childhood  years ;  — 
Age  with  his  wrinkled  forehead  never  nears 

The  sleeper's  couch — nor  any  watcher  save 

Silene,  stealing  softly  o'er  the  wave, 

Comes  to  that  restful   chamber — she  appears 
Night  after  night,  pale  from  her  maiden  fears, 

Nor  has  she  blushed  for  that  fond  kiss  she  gave. 

And  still  the  myth  its  magic  charm  retains, 
Still  does  the  sleeper  keep  the  bloom  of  youth, 

Now  comes  Silene  as  she  came  of  old. 
From  Time's  remotest  infancy  Love  reigns 
Over  the  planetary  orbs,  in  truth, 

More  surely  yet  does  Love  that  dreamer  hold. 


82 


LETHE 

UF  all  the  streams  that  pour  their  flood  around 
The  outer  borders  of  the  world  below, 
Cocytus  with  its  burdening  of  woe, 

Scarce-moving  Acheron,  whose  waves  resound 

With  groans  of  pain,  with  sobs  of  grief  profound, 
And  Styx  with  deadly  hate  o'erloaded  so 
Its  turbid,  sluggish  currents  hardly  flow — 

Of  all  is  Lethe  with  sweet  solace  crowned. 

For  Lethe's  tide,  charged  with  forgetfulness, 
Affords  a  healing  draught  to  Sorrow's  pain, 

Brings  to  the  Passions  calm  relief  of  sleep ; 
And  there  is  wherein  it  has  grace  to  bless 
The  troubled  soul,  for  in  our  dreams  remain 
What  memories  devoted  Love  would  keep. 


83 


NEMESIS 

ITS  moving  shadow  keeps  at  equal  pace 
Along  with  substance  wheresoe'er  this  goes, 
And  where  does  stationed  body  find  repose 

The  faithful  shadow  e'en  yet  haunts  that  place ; 

Day  after  day  across  the  dial's  face 
The  gnomon  traces  circling  line  that  shows 
How  pass  the  hours  to  the  long  day's  close, 

Its  final  falling  into  night's  embrace. 

Silent  as  shadows  creeping  o'er  the  grass, 
Forever  hastening  toward  their  destined  goal 
With  steps  that  never  their  direction  miss, 
In  comradeship  with  hours  as  they  pass, 

There  comes  before  the  shrinking,  guilty  soul, 
Dimly  outlined,  dread  form  of  Nemesis. 


84 


HOMER 

F  AR  off,  far  off,  as  in  another  age 
And  in  another  realm  of  human  thought, 
Wherein  ambitions  of  today  were  nought 

But  dreams  unworthy  patriot  and  sage, 

We  hear  a  strain  of  music  to  engage 

Attention  of  our  souls  to  rapture  caught, 
While  we  behold  such  deeds  of  valor  wrought 

As  are  not  shown  upon  historic  page. 

O  Genius,  availing  to  create 

A  world  in  which  humanity  attains 

Its  height  in  virtue  as  was  virtue  then ; 
Where  Sorrow  ever  holds  her  royal  state, 
And  woman  in  her  loveliness  remains 
To  be  forever  idolized  of  men! 


85 


SONG  OF  LINUS 

J.  HE  genial  earth,  the  fondly  fostering  rain, 
The  smiling  summer  sun — each  has  its  share 
In  seconding  the  plowman's  prudent  care 

And  bringing  to  its  prime  the  ripening  grain 

Until  the  golden  harvest  on  the  plain 

Waves  to  warm  winds  of  August  blowing  there, 
Rising  and  falling  with  the  rhythmic  air 

As  rise  and  fall  long  billows  on  the  main. 

And  when  at  length  come  harvesters  to  reap, 
And  women  gleaners  follow  in  their  wake 

To  garner  all  the  bounty  of  the  soil, 
Then  is  the  Song  of  Linus  raised  to  keep 
The  movement  steady  for  the  laborers'  sake, 
To  give  them  pastime  and  to  sweeten  toil. 


86 


HELEN 

llEAVEN  with  its  smiling  lends  its  loveliness 
To  what  of  beauty  lies  about  us  here ; 
Beneath  that  brightness  earth  and  sea  appear 

Robed  in  Creation's  new- wove  bridal  dress; 

But  when  the  genial  light  shall  cease  to  bless 
With  softest  radiance  what  is  lying  near, 
Then  will  our  world — a  planet  shining  clear — 

Give  back  the  day  through  realms  are  measureless. 

So  is  it  with  the  beauty  that  once  led 

White  sails  of  Greece  across  the  ^Egean  Sea, 
Led  warrior  princes  from  their  homes  afar; 
E'en  to  our  world  is  Helen's  glory  shed 
Above  the  horizon  verge  of  history, 

She  lingers,  smiling,  as  bright  evening  star. 


[87] 


ON  THE  WALL 

vjLAD  in  the  beauty  of  a  starry  night, 
Came  Helen  from  the  palace  to  the  wall 
Where  were  the  Trojan  elders  seated  all, — 

Came,  to  their  eyes  a  vision  of  delight; 

Their  hearts  were  cheered  and  gladdened  by  the 

sight 

Of  so  great  loveliness,  and  yet  a  pall 
Of  sorrow  did  upon  their  spirits  fall 

For  their  dead  heroes  fallen  in  the  fight. 

In  such  a  way  as  this  how  often  we 

Some  gleam  of  beauty  wonderful  behold 
As  form  of  pitying  angel  bending  o'er, 
And  in  the  splendor  of  that  vision  see 
The  painfully  unhappy  story  told 

Of  what  had  taken  place  long  time  before! 


88 


ACHILLES  AND  ATHENA 

W  ITH  indignation  deep  his  high  soul  burned, 
Mean  taunt  of  cowardice  with  scorn  he  met, 
Disdained  to  notice  Agamemnon's  threat 

Of  violence;  for  safety  unconcerned, 

He  rested  calm;  but  when  at  length  he  learned 
His  chief  a  greater  wrong  than  any  yet 
Had  planned,  his  fingers  to  the  hilt  were  set 

In  wrath — Athena  warned  him ;  quick  he  turned. 

His  glance  was  one  of  anger,  but  he  knew 

The  calmness  in  those  steadfast  eyes  of  blue, 
In  that  low  voice,  by  him  alone  was  heard 

Of  all  the  encampment  on  the  Phrygian  shore, 
Back  to  its  scabbard  slipped  the  half -drawn  sword, 

Lord  of  himself  Achilles  was  once  more. 


[89] 


HECTOR'S  PARTING 

UNFADING  picture,  that  domestic  scene 
As  the  great  master  painted  human  life, 
Troy's  Hector,,  going  into  deadly  strife, 

Outside  the  Scaean  gate  turns  to  his  queen, 

To  sad  Andromache — the  nurse  between 

Holds  their  young  babe,  proud  treasure  of  the 

wife, 
Hope  of  the  City  with  forebodings  rife, 

Recalling,  too,  the  father's  noble  mien. 

There  stands  that  outlined  group  before  our  eyes; 
What  tenderness  upon  that  mother's  face, 
On  Hector's  what  devotion  to  the  State! 
We  hear  the  affrighted  infant's  feeble  cries, 
Upon  those  faces  pain  of  parting  trace, — 
The  picture  typifies  our  human  fate. 


90 


ODYSSEUS 

r  AR  had  he  wandered,  many  cities  known, 
With  men  of  various  moods  and  morals  met, 
At  Troy  had  borne  ten  years  of  war,  and  yet 

The  Fates  had  singled  out  this  man  alone, 

With  risk  and  peril  his  long  way  had  strewn. 
Through  seas  that  were  with  magic  islands  set 
Foregoing  song  of  sirens  with  regret 

At  last  he  was  on  stranger  island  thrown. 

Strict  allegory  this  of  mortal  life 

That  years  and  years  laborious  takes  us  o'er 
And  leaves  us  spent  upon  an  alien  strand ; 
After  the  heavy  toiling  and  the  strife 

It  brings  us  shipwrecked  to  an  unknown  shore 
To  meet  with  kindness  at  an  angel's  hand. 


[91] 


PENELOPE 

r  ATTERN  of  faithfulness  through  weary  years 
While  was  her  lord  engaged  in  mortal  strife 
Waged  once  at  Troy  for  Menelaus'  wife, 

Doomed  cause  of  countless  miseries  and  tears ; 

Keeping  through  longer  time  of  doubts  and  fears 
A  heart  with  love  and  true  devotion  rife, 
With  courage  meeting  trials  of  our  life, 

Most  womanly  Penelope  appears. 

Her  name  wears  glory  ever  since  the  bard 
To  whom  that  clearer  vision  did  belong 

Which  Heaven  in  pity  to  the  blind  allows, 
Gave  to  her  constancy  the  high  reward 
Of  praises  due  in  his  immortal  song, 

Chanting  the  virtue  of  Odysseus'  spouse. 


92 


OFF  SIGEUM 

lines  inscribed  on  monumental  stone, 
No  pyramid  upraised  by  toil  of  slaves, 
No  cairn  heaped  high  with  pebbles  from  the 

waves 

Tells  with  a  tone  of  sadness  all  its  own 
Where  were  the  slaughtered  heaps  of  heroes  thrown 
When  Greek  and  Trojan  youth  shared  common 

graves, 

And  earth  drank  more  of  blood  than  desert  craves 
Of  water — victor  and  vanquished  equally  unknown. 

They  need  it  not — the  dead  who  slumber  there 
Beside  the  ^Egean  sea  that  evermore 

Repeats  sad  dirges  on  that  lonely  strand ; 
They  show  on  Homer's  page  how  bright  and  fair 
The  names  of  those  who  perished  on  that  shore; 
Their  deeds  of  valor  showing  yet  how  grand! 


93 


SAPPHO 


As 


music  heard  across  a  sylvan  lake 
Comes  with  a  softened  cadence  to  the  ear, 
The  one  who  listens  there  is  charmed  to  hear 

How  sweet  a  melody  the  numbers  make ; 

Upon  the  stillness  of  the  evening  break 
The  liquid  notes — as  ripples  they  appear 
On  our  lone  shore,  sent  from  another  sphere; 

We  stop  and  listen  for  the  singer's  sake. 

And  so  it  is  that  now  and  then  a  strain 
Of  Lesbian  music  comes  from  out  the  past 
In  company  with  some  endearing  word, 
We  find  in  song  repeated  once  again 
After  the  lapse  of  centuries — how  vast! 

Low  warbling  sweet'of  Sappho — fondly  heard. 


94 


KLEIS 

&WEET  maiden  dowered  with  a  poet's  praise, 
And  by  the  grace  of  that  fair  gift  alone 
To  men  of  these  remoter  ages  known, — 

Known  and  beloved  for  what  the  singer  says — 

Thou  hast  thy  splendid  portion  in  these  days 
And  in  this  land  far  distant  from  thine  own ; 
Unconscious  are  we  how  much  time  has  flown 

When  now  perusing  Sappho's  softest  lays. 

No  mausoleum  mortal  hands  could  build 
No  epitaph  on  brazen  tablet  grand 

Could  keep  the  memory  of  a  name  so  long 
As  these  few  lines  with  tender  passion  filled 

Have  by  their  beauty  from  the  years  been  saved, 
And  still  are  breathing  strains  of  Lesbian  song. 


95 


A  FRAGMENT 

iTOW  has  the  glory  of  the  weaver's  skill 
Brought  solace  often  to  some  aching  breast, 
To  tired  hand  has  offered  grateful  rest 

And  soothed  an  over-troubled  soul  until 

The  heart  was  quiet  and  the  passion  still 
With  vision  of  a  dear  one's  figure  dressed 
In  fabric  fit  for  entertaining  guest, 

Or  fit  for  choral  dance  to  pipe  and  quill. 

Such  thought  comes  with  a  verse  remembered  lonj 
By  which  my  mother  would  her  toil  relieve 

Soft  singing  of  the  shuttle  heard  above, 
Linked  with  a  strain  of  Lesbian  Sappho's  song, 
"O  mother  dear,  my  web  I  cannot  weave, 
My  heart  is  thinking  of  the  youth  I  love!" 


96] 


ERINNA 

0  MORTAL  singer  by  the  Muses  taught, 
Who  with  them  sang  unto  a  world's  delight, 
How  can  one,  not  thus  favored,  now  requite 

A  debt  of  grateful  homage  as  he  ought? 

What  offering  to  thy  worship  shall  be  brought 
Worthy  thy  genius?  Who  shall  now  indite 
Songs  that  shall  fittingly  thy  charms  recite 

In  measured  verse,  of  strains  immortal  wrought? 

1  take  not  to  myself  such  lofty  task, 

My  hand  would  venture  not  to  touch  the  string 

That  quivers  still  with  thy  intense  desire ; 
Only  would  I  of  god  Apollo  ask 

That  he  will  from  his  flaming  altar  bring 
Some  spark  of  Poesy's  celestial  fire. 


97 


AESCHYLUS 


'A- 


iTHENIAN  ^Eschylus,  Euphorion's  son, 
In  his  last  rest  doth  'neath  this  stone  abide 
'Mid  the  wheat  fields  of  Gela  where  he  died. 
Be  witness  of  his  manhood,  Marathon!" 
Such  legend  was  inscribed  upon  the  stone 
That  marked  the  grave  of  him  who  glorified 
High  tragedy  with  genius  denied 
To  all  except  Euphorion's  child  alone. 

This  record  shows  that  poets  'even  then 

With  some  prophetic  sense  foresaw  the  sword 

Would  win  for  Valor  most  enduring  bays ; 
That  in  the  world  of  action  grateful  men 
Would  set  bold  deed  above  inspired  word, 
Give  to  brave  warrior  his  full  meed  of  praise. 


98 


PROMETHEUS 

1  HE  mind  is  prone  to  send  its  thought  abroad 
Upon  a  far  and  hopeless  quest  to  find 
What  still  lies  hidden  in  the  Sovereign  Mind 

And  in  the  eternal  providence  of  God ; 

Thought  goes  where  never  yet  have  angels  trod, 
Leaves  all  the  present  peace  and  joy  behind, 
Unto  its  toil  and  fruitless  task  resigned 

As  is  the  slave  submissive  to  the  rod. 

Once  only  Jove  attempted  to  control, 
To  curb  mankind's  insatiable  desire 

For  prying  into  mysteries  profound, 
And  then  it  was  that  the  Promethean  soul 
Showed  itself  proof  against  celestial  ire 

Although  the  man  to  Caucasus  were  bound. 


[99] 


PINDAR 

LjREAT  Soul  that  didst  inspire  Hellenic  song 
Yet  lingering  on  the  ever-quivering  strings, 
That  from  the  past  a  blended  echo  brings 

Of  shouts  still  urging  Hiero's  car  along 

And  plaudits  of  the  loud-acclaiming  throng ; 
Thy  song,  immortal,  through  the  ages  rings, 
We  see  the  crowd,  see  Victory  fold  her  wings 

And  with  wild  olive  crown  the  athlete  strong! 

The  gods  of  Hellas  are  now  empty  names, 
Their  sacred  temples  buried  in  the  dust, 

But  still  wild  olive  thrives  upon  her  plains ; 
The  fame  survives  of  her  Olympic  games, 

The  emblazoned  victory  is  undimmed  by  rust, 
The  victors  living  in  thy  lofty  strains. 


[100 


AT  OLYMPIA 

W  E  see  mad  horses  rushing  at  full  speed 
Adown  the  course;  discordant  calls  we  hear 
Of  wild  spectators  warning  charioteer 

That  he  the  pillars  at  the  turning  heed ; 

"Give  rein  to  outer,  curb  the  inner  steed, 

Nor  try  to  graze  firm-planted  stone  too  near!" 
Yet  others  hail  with  loud  applauding  cheer 

The  driver's  daring,  horses'  royal  breed. 

All  this  has  Pindar  shown  in  glowing  lines 
That  tell  of  victories  more  proudly  won 

Than  those  rewarded  by  a  kingdom's  crown; 
Upon  his  page  the  name  of  Hiero  shines 
As  that  of  winner  in  the  courses  run, 
Thus  gaining  an  imperishable  renown. 


[101] 


SOPHOCLES 


u 


NRIVALLED  master  of  the  Athenian  stage, 
He  brought  full  glory  to  dramatic  art, 
He  sounded  to  its  depths  the  human  heart, 

Set  forth  its  passions  on  the  Attic  page ; 

He  traced  man's  destiny  from  birth  to  age, 
Looked  calmly  on  life  in  its  every  part, 
Felt  guilt's  remorse  and  knew  the  bitter  smart 

Of  baffled  aims  when  evil  passions  rage. 

It  was  the  part  of  an  heroic  soul 

To  question  sphinx-like  mysteries  of  Fate, 

Draw  out  the  monitory  truth  from  these ; 
The  one  who  saw  of  human  life  the  whole, — 
Its  ills  how  many,  sufferings  how  great, 
And  gave  them  living  form,  was  Sophocles. 


[102] 


AT  AULIS 

1  HE  ships  were  idle  in  the  sheltered  bay, 
The  men  were  idle,  too,  upon  the  shore, 
Impatient  for  their  places  at  the  oar, 

From  Greece  to  wind-swept  Troy  to  get  away; 

The  priests  declared  grim  cause  of  the  delay, 
Offended  gods  must  be  appeased  before 
The  winds  would  calm,  the  fleet  could  sail  once 
more, 

A  virgin's  blood  alone  Heaven's  wrath  allay. 

The  priest  for  sacrificial  victim  took 

The  king's  own  child — the  father  turned  aside 

And  drew  his  mantle  close  before  his  face ; 
He  could  not  bear  his  daughter's  pleading  look, 
Keen  anguish  of  his  soul  he  could  not  hide, 
Nor  bear  to  give  his  child  the  last  embrace. 


103 


ANTIGONE 

JL/ARK  night  reveals  more  to  our  wondering  gaze 

Than  day  with  all  its  wealth  of  light  can  show ; 

Across  the  boundless  heavens  in  order  go 
Unnumbered  worlds  upon  their  several  ways, 
Not  one  in  all  that  ordered  movement  stays 

Its  measured  progress,  be  it  fast  or  slow, 

But  keeping  in  its  line  of  service  so 
The  majesty  of  sovereign  law  obeys. 

And  there  are  other  worlds  of  ordered  plan, 
Embracing  humble  duties  manifold 

Whose  claims  upon  us  are  a  mystery ; 
Mild  offices  of  love  from  man  to  man, 
Firm  loyalty  to  Heaven  that  we  hold, 
Shown  in  fixed  purpose  of  Antigone. 


104 


ANTIGONE  AT  COLONUS 

11 OW  is  the  beauty  of  Colonus  crowned 
By  what  is  told  us  of  that  unblessed  king 
Who  came  in  exile  and  keen  suffering 

To  this  fair  spot,  who  in  its  quiet  found 

Favor  of  Furies,  that  his  woes  were  drowned, 
Release  from  hated  memories  that  cling 
To  Thought,  unsleeping,  that  to  frenzy  sting 

His  royal  soul,  his  noble  spirit  wound. 

So  is  it  that  enchanting  spot  we  see 
Within  of  poesy  the  tender  haze 

When  tragic  fate  of  CEdipus  is  told ; 
And  there  is  seen  steadfast  Antigone, 
As  poet  pictured  her  in  earlier  days, 
Bending  above  her  father  blind  and  old. 


[105 


PHILOCTETES 

.NATURE,  in  her  maternal  sympathies, 
Comes  to  the  grieving  soul  and  helps  it  bear 
What  weight  of  sorrows  has  been  made  its  share 

Of  freightage  over  life's  tempestuous  seas ; 

She  soothes  the  spirit  with  her  harmonies 
Of  song  that  throbs  upon  the  summer  air — 
She  lifted  Philoctetes  from  despair 

As  told  in  tragic  verse  by  Sophocles ; 

For  when  of  loathsome  ills  the  sufferer 
Was  from  his  lazaretto  isle  set  free, 

He  lingered  long  upon  that  Lemnian  shore ; 
His  soul  with  deep  emotion  was  astir 

When  he  stood  listening  to  the  imprisoning  sea 
That  broke  upon  the  rocks  in  ceaseless  roar. 


[106] 


ELECTRA  AT  HER  FATHER'S  TOMB 

r  ORTH  from  the  palace  with  attendant  maid 
Electra  comes  unto  her  father's  grave ; 
She  pours  libations  generous  to  crave 

The  gracious  favor  of  the  offended  shade ; 

The  thankless  gift  is  on  the  altar  laid, 

A  prayer  is  offered  that  the  gods  would  save 
That  house  from  penalty  the  Fates  would  have 

For  murdered  lord,  for  plighted  faith  betrayed. 

Then  is  perceived  upon  the  altar  there 
Beside  her  own  a  votive  gift  that  shows 
'Twas  made  by  one  was  kindred  with  the  dead ; 

Two  fresh-clipped  sunny  locks  of  golden  hair, 
Fine  as  her  own  is,  and  from  this  she  knows 
They  are  from  her  beloved  brother's  head. 


107] 


EURIPIDES 

1  HE  world  indulges  fondness  for  the  stage, 
For  comic  mask ;  for  tragic  sock  to  show 
Mirth  of  a  clown,  a  sovereign's  heavy  woe; 

A  thoughtless  Paris,  Priam's  wretched  age, 

Sad  grief  of  Hecuba,  Medea's  rage; 

Put  light  and  shade  of  life  in  contrast  so 

That  we  while  viewing  them  may  come  to  know 

What  flame  of  genius  lights  dramatic  page. 

Three  children  of  the  Muses  came  of  old 
On  the  Athenian  stage  with  themes  sublime 

And  by  Apollo's  grace  with  power  to  please ; 
The  first  one  hardy  theft  of  fire  told, 

The  next  Antigone's  praiseworthy  crime, 
And  last  came  tenderest  Euripides. 


108 


ORESTES  IN  SANCTUARY 

z\.T  last  the  long  and  hot  pursuit  is  o'er, 
Orestes  clings  unto  the  sacred  shrine 
Beneath  protection  of  an  arm  divine ; 

Around  him,  sleeping  on  the  temple  floor, 

Lie  Furies  tired  out — they  loudly  snore — 
Their  features  threaten  him  in  every  line 
A  vengeance  terrible ;  they  give  no  sign 

They  will  relent  their  purpose  evermore. 

Dark  picture  this  of  one  brought  to  despair 
By  crime  to  which  himself  was  madly  driven 

Through  wickedness  was  earlier  than  his  own; 
We  see  remorseful  spirit  sheltered  there, 
Of  matricidal  guilt  divinely  shriven, 

And  granted  peace  it  never  yet  had  known. 


109 


ORESTES  AT  DELPHI 

/TLBOUT  the  threshold  of  the  temple  door 
Keen-scented  hounds  of  hell  their  vigil  keep 
Until  o'erwearied  with  their  watch  they  sleep 

Stretched  in  confusion  on  the  marble  floor, 

And  on  the  stony  steps  that  rise  before 
The  peristyle — their  heavy  breathing  deep 
Shows  that  they  rest  in  readiness  to  leap 

On  him  who  comes  protection  to  implore. 

Such  are  the  Furies  to  the  frenzied  sight 

Of  him  whose  hands  are  reddened  with  the  blood 
Drawn  from  the  breast  that  in  his  babyhood 

Has  been  the  pillow  of  his  head  at  night, 

The  sanctuary  of  his  face  from  fright, 

The  source  from  which  he  earliest  drew  his  food. 


110 


ALCESTIS 

11 E  who  would  count  the  value  of  our  years, 
How  great  a  boon  they  are  unto  the  soul, 
Must  reckon  all  they  bring  of  joy  and  dole 

And  learn  to  counterbalance  hopes  and  fears; 

Must  see  that  smiles  are  brighter  made  by  tears, 
And  let  the  memory  of  loss  console 
For  whelming  waves  of  loneliness  that  roll 

Between  this  world  and  yet  more  happy  spheres. 

The  story  of  Alcestis  told  of  yore 
By  Grecian  poet  in  his  moving  lines 

Presents  the  worthiness  of  life  in  brief, 
For  Death  in  sending  back  the  wife  once  more 
Showed  how  the  Infinite  to  ruth  inclines 
In  giving  us  the  discipline  of  grief. 


Ill 


MELEAGER 

LlGHT-HEARTED  singer  of  an  earlier  day, 
Singing  thy  songs  of  mirth  and  love  among 
Those  who  gave  music  to  the  Grecian  tongue 

And  breathed  their  passion  in  melodious  lay, 

We  listen  to  thy  numbers  light  and  gay, 
In  which  the  charms  of  Zenophil  were  sung, 
To  which  the  fragrance  of  white  lilies  clung 

And  wherein  myrtle  was  entwined  with  bay. 

Perennial  is  the  bloom  of  sympathy 

That  makes  another's  joy  and  grief  our  own, 

Identifies  the  present  with  the  past ; 
So  long  as  we  may  thoughtful  violets  see 
By  Nature's  lavish  hand  profusely  sown 
So  long  shall  Meleager's  memory  last. 


112 


THEOCRITUS 

IN  O  sweeter  voice  is  heard  than  that  doth  greet 
At  earliest  dawn  the  coming  of  the  day, 
When  does  the  veiling  of  a  tender  grey 

Conceal  where  gladly  night  and  morning  meet; 

It  is  the  wood  thrush  ready  to  repeat 
A  song  that  in  the  evening  died  away 
Into  a  dream  of  soft  melodious  lay 

Lulling  to  rest  with  numbers  faintly  sweet. 

So  is  it  that  from  centuries  remote, 

From  pastured  slopes  of  green  Sicilian  hills, 

With  all  the  sweetness  of  that  morning  bird, 
There  comes  the  freshness  of  a  liquid  note 
As  down  a  mountainside  come  laughing  rills, 
The  singing  of  Theocritus  is  heard. 


113] 


PASTORALS 

W  HO  now  will  tend  the  flock?  who  now  will  sing 
Within  the  shade  of  spreading  mulberry  trees 
Songs  that  some  neighbor  shepherdess  may  please, 

Delight  the  ears  of  shepherd  lads  who  bring 

Their  panting  sheep  at  noon  time  to  cool  spring 
Of  water — they  meanwhile  forgetting  these, 
Lost  to  their  duty  in  sweet  melodies 

Of  Pan's  composing,  shepherd's  rendering? 

That  simple  life  and  taste  is  not  for  us, 
Weak  slaves  of  Fashion,  servitors  to  care, 

On  Custom's  dusty  highway  driven  along; 
But,  losing  ourselves  in  Theocritus, 

With  unschooled  Fancy  we  may  wander  there 
On  cool  sequestered  paths  through  Realms  of 
Song. 


114 


LUCRETIUS 

1  HE  Infinite,  existing  without  bound 
And  having  in  itself  both  Time  and  Space, 
Presents  nor  youth  nor  age  nor  any  place 

Within  which  may  the  Infinite  be  found. 

And  yet  that  unsolved  mystery  to  sound 
The  feeble,  childish  intellect  of  our  race 
Creeps  to  the  verge  of  knowledge,  there  to  trace 

Some  limitation  the  Unknown  around. 

Lucretius,  poet  of  most  curious  mind 
And  of  a  fearless  spirit,  undertook 

Adventures  perilous  o'er  seas  of  thought ; 
Made  far  excursions,  profitless,  to  find 
That  for  which  only  unwise  mortals  look, 
Returned  unhappy,  having  found  it  not. 


115] 


CATULLUS 

.f\LL  day  we  see  the  mountain  streamlet  pour 
Its  foaming  waters  over  ledges  bare, 
Nor  are  we  of  their  music  made  aware, 

The  noises  round  us  are  so  many  more ; 

But  when  the  clamor  of  the  day  is  o'er, 
And  hush  of  evening  comes  upon  the  air, 
The  cadenced  lapsing  of  the  waters  there 

Gives  to  the  solitude  imperious  roar. 

While  reading  ancient  Rome's  heroic  verse, 
We  hear  the  battle  cry,  the  legion's  cheers, 

Loud  clash  of  weapons,  brazen  trumpet's  call; 
But  when  Catullus'  Muse  we  hear  rehearse 
Occasion  sorrowful  of  Lesbia's  tears, 

Then  rises  music  from  their  rhythmic  fall. 


116 


VIRGIL 

IxOME'S  laurelled  poet,  seeking  worthy  theme 

On  which  to  exercise  his  magic  skill, 

Chose  early  years  of  Latium  to  fill 
With  men  and  deeds  heroic  that  they  seem 
The  fanciful  imaginings  of  a  dream ; 

We  hear  the  cries,  the  blast  of  clarion  shrill 

Proclaiming  Roman  victory  until 
Through  battle-clouds  advancing  standards  gleam. 

Rome's  palaces  are  crumbled  now  to  dust, 
Her  empire  but  a  memory  of  the  past, 

Her  legions  tented  on  Time's  farther  shore ; 
Her  brazen  tablets  are  consumed  with  rust, 
But  yet  of  poesy  the  glories  last, 
And  Dido's  passion  burns  forevermore. 


117 


HORACE 

11  HE  poet  to  philosophy  inclined, 

Who  sees  how  great  the  purpose  of  our  lives, 
How  mean  the  ends  for  which  man  madly  strives, 

To  all  the  nobler  issues  being  blind ; — 

The  poet  aiming  to  uplift  mankind, 
As  soon  as  he  at  altar  step  arrives 
He  kindles  what  divinity  survives, 

What  fire  smoulders  in  the  human  mind. 

So,  Flaccus,  thou  dost  show  us  how  to  laugh 
Where  others  make  it  only  ours  to  weep, 

Our  hearts  with  pity  yet  and  sorrow  filled ; 
It  is  not  wine  that  thou  wouldst  bid  us  quaff 
From  amphorae  that  have  been  buried  deep, 
But  rather  wine  of  thought  doubly  distilled. 


118 


LALAGE 

maiden,  laughing  from  the  poet's  page 
And  gaily  prattling  in  the  Roman  tongue, 
A  group  of  mischief -loving  maids  among, 
All  ready  a  keen  rivalry  to  wage, 
In  merry  games  of  children  to  engage ; 

How  has  the  charm  of  innocence  been  sung 
That  you  remain  the  girl  forever  young 
Down  to  the  present  time,  from  age  to  age! 

'Tis  of  humanity  the  better  part, 

Of  happy  mirth  this  fresh  inheritance 

That  makes  the  world  again  all  over  new ; 
That  keeps  a  youthful  feeling  in  the  heart, 

And  as  through  lengthened  centuries  we  advance 
We  turn  back,  Lalage,  and  laugh  with  you. 


[119] 


OVID  IN  EXILE 

r  OOR  Roman  poet!  torn  from  home  and  friends, 
Unjustly  exiled  to  far  Scythian  shore 
Where  gales  torment  the  Euxine  evermore, 

Where  elemental  warfare  never  ends ; 

How  to  thy  wretchedness  stern  Nature  lends 
A  sympathy  unknown  to  thee  before! 
The  grieving  heavens  show  pity,  bending  o'er 

Thy  sorrow,  and  the  rain  with  weeping  blends. 

Thy  verse  has  taught  humanity  to  keep 

A  tender  thought  for  those  who  waste  their  days 

In  exile,  sorrowing  for  their  country's  woes; 
It  paints  the  desolation  wide  and  deep, 
The  hunger  and  fatigue  on  toilsome  ways 
To  quench  life's  embers  'mid  Siberian  snows. 


[120 


DANTE 

15 RAVE  soul  of  man  to  search  the  dark  abyss, 
To  wander  through  wide  gloomy  realms  of  woe! 
And,  venturing  on  untravelled  way,  to  go 

At  last  to  undisturbed  abode  of  bliss 

That  has  a  yet  more  spacious  heaven  than  this! 

What  if  that  guiding  spirit  should  not  know 
The  devious  path  to  follow  up,  and  so 

His  final  goal  should  rash  adventurer  miss? 

The  soul  of  Dante  proved  that  it  was  bold 

To  make  its  Heaven-appointed  way  through  life 

And  into  other  world  its  thought  to  send ; 
On  dangerous  path  unslackened  course  to  hold 
O'er  all  rough  fields  of  effort  and  of  strife, 
And  come  to  Victory's  crowning  at  the  end. 


[121 


BEATRICE 

J.  HROUGH  life  and  even  longer  yet  survives 
The  feeling  passionate  of  human  love, 
This  rules  the  soul  all  other  force  above 

And  shapes  the  destiny  of  mortal  lives ; 

But  for  that  sovereignty  Love  never  strives, 
'Tis  not  for  him  his  right  divine  to  prove, 
But  rather  does  it  loyal  hearts  behoove 

To  greet  Love  royally  when  he  arrives. 

In  soul  of  Dante  through  long  troublous  years 
Did  love  for  Beatrice  hold  ample  sway 

And  lead  his  thoughts  to  hidden  mysteries ; 
Inferno  could  not  banish  with  its  fears 
Nor  Purgatory  bar  him  from  his  way 

With  her  companionship  through  Paradise. 


122] 


THE   "INFERNO" 

VJREAT  Singer  of  a  greater  world  than  ours, 
Of  regions  never  reached  by  any  sail, 
Of  land  un visited  by  ocean  gale, 

By  cloud  that  round  the  lonely  island  lowers 

And  freshens  summer  meadows  with  its  showers, 
You  sing  a  sunless  realm  of  morning  pale, 
Of  evening  twilight  when  the  senses  fail, 

And  vision  rests  with  supernatural  powers. 

You  had  companion  on  your  journey  there, 
One  who  had  gone  the  dismal  way  before 
With  fate-announcing  Sibyl  by  his  side; 
Now,  since  your  visit,  all  who  have  a  care 
The  underworld  of  horror  to  explore 
Have  taken  your  "Inferno"  for  their  guide. 


123 


THE  NEW  LIFE 


'LOVE, 


reasoning  of  my  Lady  in  my  mind 
With  constant  pleasure,  oft  of  her  will  say 
Things  over  which  the  intellect  may  stray, 
His  words  make  music  of  so  sweet  a  kind 
My  Soul  hears  with  delight,  is  glad  to  find 
Her  sister  Spirit  worshipped  in  such  way 
As  Love  himself  can  his  devotion  pay 
In  words  of  praise  with  charm  of  song  combined.' 

So  Dante  said  when  at  the  Banquet,  crowned, 
He  poured  the  wine  of  philosophic  thought 

Reality  of  his  New  Life  to  prove ; 
In  that  discussion  of  his  past  he  found 

Whatever  overturns  the  years  had  brought 
Renewal  of  his  life  was  all  from  Love. 


124 


PETRARCH 

FIE  lived  an  exile  from  the  morning  land 
Of  woman's  love,  though  he  gave  all  his  own 
Fond  adoration  to  one  heart  alone 

That  banished  him  as  to  an  alien  strand ; 

There,  in  obedience  to  Love's  command, 
He  made  his  unrequited  passion  known 
To  hill  and  valley,  echoing  woods  and  stone, 

And  traced  his  lady's  name  upon  the  sand. 

From  that  lone  life  of  heavy  solitude, 
From  out  the  fullness  of  his  aching  heart, 

Amid  the  tumult  of  a  rising  storm, 
With  charm  of  song  did  Petrarch  calm  his  mood, 
He  gave  his  tender  longing  unto  Art 

And  left  the  world  the  sonnet's  perfect  form. 


125 


MICHAEL  ANGELO 

r  EW  things,  well  done  and  meriting  the  praise 
Of  excellence,  of  newness  in  design, 
Whose  form  is  perfect,  workmanship  is  fine — 

These  serve  our  admiration  warm  to  raise. 

It  may  be  that  the  hand  of  genius  plays 
On  organ  keys  a  symphony  divine, 
Or  lifelike  statue  seems  disposed  to  twine 

For  artist  brow  wreath  of  unfading  bays. 

To  Michael  Angelo  the  gift  was  given 
To  meditate  upon  angelic  grace 

And  show  his  bold  conceptions  unto  men ; 
Aspiring  thought  he  lifted  up  to  Heaven 
By  chiseled  truth,  by  magic  skill  to  trace 
Beauty  of  soul  with  facile  brush  and  pen. 


126 


TASSO'S  PRISON 

r  ERRARA'S  dungeon  of  unpitying  stone, 
Dark,  damp,  cold  cell  of  close  confinement  where 
For  seven  long  weary  years  the  spirit  fair 

Of  Tasso  had  been  buried,  that  had  known 

His  heavy  grief,  had  echoed  to  his  groan, 

Been  witness  to  what  wrongs  he  suffered  there, 
Shut  from  the  sunlight,  from  the  open  air, 

Left  to  companionship  of  woe  alone ; — 

Ferrara's  dungeon  tells  more  mournful  tale, 
More  pitiful  than  any  artist's  skill, 

Or  most  impassionate  lines  of  poet  can ; 
And  yet  it  shows  how  mortal  powers  avail 
To  bear  up  against  wrongs  designed  to  kill, 
Endure  man's  inhumanity  to  man. 


127 


CIRIACO  DI  ANCONA 

"T 

1  GO,"  the  Italian  antiquary  said 

When  he  went  wandering  through  the  land  alone 
In  search  of  bronze  inscribed  or  sculptured  stone, 
What  record  there — "I  go  to  wake  the  dead." 
But  though  his  way  among  the  sleeping  led, — 
Among  gray  tombs  with  mosses  overgrown 
And  ruined  walls  of  temples  overthrown, 
He  roused  from  slumber  living  souls  instead. 

The  coming  of  Greek  letters  and  Greek  art 
Was  as  the  breaking  of  day's  genial  light 

O'er  eastern  hills  upon  a  summer's  morn; 
With  ravishment  their  beauty  touched  the  heart, 
Men  lost  themselves  in  wonder  at  the  sight, 
To  truth  and  freedom  was  the  world  reborn. 


128 


CONSTANTINE 

W  HEN  was  a  token  given  to  Constantine 
Of  Heaven's  approval  in  the  stubborn  fight 
That  he  was  waging  in  behalf  of  right, 

For  human  law  and  for  a  faith  divine, 

Among  the  faithful  stars  that  nightly  shine 
Appeared  the  holy  cross  unto  his  sight, 
Thereon  he  read  the  legend  flaming  bright, 

"The  victory  shalt  thou  win  beneath  this  sign." 

Eternal  are  the  bounds  of  right  and  wrong, 
Unchanging  as  the  stars'  appointed  course, 

To  be  inviolate  by  you  and  me; 
When  we  maintain  them  with  a  courage  strong 
E'en  to  resort  unto  an  arm^d  force, 
For  us  beneath  that  sign  is  victory. 


129] 


CAMOENS 

W  HO  sang  the  Tagus  with  its  gentle  flow 
Through  meadows  blossoming  on  either  side, 
His  destiny  it  was  to  wander  wide 

And  mortal  life's  vicissitudes  to  know, 

For  Camoens  gave  himself  to  Fortune  so 
That  he  was  made  the  plaything  of  the  tide 
Yet  he  with  courage  and  with  skill  defied 

The  Indian  wave  to  whelm  his  work  below. 

One  hand  to  swim  and  one  the  Lusiad 
To  hold  aloft  above  the  billow's  strife, — 

Heroics  he  would  not  to  ruin  yield ; 
Such  were  the  fateful  risks  the  poet  had, 
He  said,  regarding  his  eventful  life, 

"One  hand  the  sword,  one  hand  the  pen  did 
wield." 


EL  CID 

flies  the  eagle  straight  toward  the  sun, 
Or  as  a  white  moth  hovers  round  a  light, 
So  men  as  well  are  lured  by  the  sight 
Of  valiant  deed  on  field  of  battle  done 
Where,  in  defence  of  right,  is  glory  won, 
Whither  does  Fancy  often  take  her  flight 
To  watch  the  heroes  of  the  past  in  fight 
On  plain  of  Troy,  on  hill-slopes  of  Leon. 

Long  as  Romance  shall  gild  her  Gothic  page 
With  stories  of  bold  Christian  knights  of  Spain, 

Shall  tell  what  feats  of  chivalry  they  did, 
So  long  their  wreaths  of  laurel  cannot  age, 
Corroding  rust  of  centuries  shall  prove  vain 
To  dim  th'  unblazoned  glory  of  the  Cid. 


[131] 


LADY  ANNE  MACHAM 

A.  LONELY  island  in  an  ocean  wide 
Lies  far  remote  from  England's  merrie  land, 
There  sparkling  waters  lap  the  golden  sand, 

And  wooded  mountain  shows  a  verdurous  side. 

Hither  a  lover  brought  his  English  bride ; 

Here  was  a  home  for  these  two  fond  ones  planned, 
From  this  retreat  were  care  and  trouble  banned, 

And  yet  "of  thought,"  'tis  said,  "the  lady  died." 

Ah  me!  how  often  do  we  go  apart 

From  walks  of  common  life,  avoiding  care, 

Unconscious  of  the  burden  that  is  brought 
Along  the  way  as  treasure  of  the  heart 
Only  to  be  more  fondly  cherished  there 
Until,  as  she  of  old,  we  die  "of  thought." 


132 


THE   MINNESINGER 

LlGHT-HEARTED  Singer,  singing  on  your  way 

The  slender  burden  of  an  idle  song 

As  centuries  ago  you  strolled  along 
Incurving  shores  of  some  Venetian  bay! 
How  glad  if  only  we  could  hear  today 

In  solitude,  apart  from  noisy  throng 

Of  those  who  would  with  their  indifference  wrong 
Your  gentle  art — could  hear  an  old-time  lay! 

Of  praise  would  Truth  and  Honor  have  their  meed, 
And   Love   would   have   his   sovereignty  made 

known, 

Then  Life  would  have  companionship  of  Mirth. 
Life  of  itself  would  be  a  joy  indeed, 

And  we  should  realize  what  charm  had  flown, 
What  worthiness  had  vanished  from  the  earth. 


133 


GUNLAD'S  MEAD 

1  HE  mead  that  is  by  Gunlad  guarded  well 
And  is  reserved  for  Odin's  honored  guest, 
Is  of  all  beverages  esteemed  the  best 

That's  quaffed  by  blest  divinities  who  dwell 

Within  Valhalla's  sacred  courts — who  tell 
In  song  the  ancient  glory  and  the  zest 
With  which  Valkyrie  make  their  searching  quest 

For  those  who,  fiercely  fighting,  nobly  fell. 

This  is  the  magic  mead  that  ever  gives 
To  skald  the  sweetness  of  triumphal  song, 
And  gives  yet  ampler  vision  to  his  soul ; 
Inspires  the  bold,  exalted  strain  that  lives 
In  Scandinavian  minstrelsy  so  long ; — 

High  Gothic  thought  inscribed  on  runic  scroll. 


[134 


THE  SKALD 

11 E  was  no  singer  of  an  idle  lay 
To  please  the  fancy  of  a  lovelorn  maid, 
Nor  yet  has  Muse  of  Scania  essayed 

To  soothe  berserker  rage  amid  the  fray, 

Nor  ever  sought  uplifted  hand  to  stay 

Dire  work  of  carnage  with  the  bloody  blade, 
But  rather  urged  the  warriors,  unafraid, 

Through  broken  hostile  ranks  to  hew  their  way. 

Only  heroic  deeds  on  battlefield 

Amid  the  din  of  war,  the  clash  of  arms, 

Received  the  tribute  of  the  singer's  breath ; 
Accompanied  by  ringing  swords  and  shields, 
He  glorified  in  song  Valhalla's  charms 
Until  the  soldier  fell  in  love  with  Death. 


135 


FOUNT  OF  URD 

1  HE  Muses  drank  sweet  waters,  crystal  clear, 
That  flowed  down  from  the  bright  Castilian  spring 
When  they  in  friendly  unison  would  sing 

Full  glories  of  the  genial  Grecian  year, 

Repeating  to  Apollo's  grateful  ear 
The  simple  harmonies  that  ever  ring 
In  Nature's  low,  sweet,  tender  carolling 

Of  life  and  love  and  heartfelt  worship  here. 

But  Bragi  quaffed  those  sacred  waters  cold 

That  bubbled  sparkling  from  deep  fount  of  Urd, 

From  underneath  the  roots  of  ash  tree  old 
Whence  was  the  inspired  voice  of  Mimer  heard, 

And  to  the  world  such  wondrous  things  he  told 
As  are  not  found  in  rune  nor  written  word. 


136] 


IDUNA'S  RUNES 

1  HREE  magic  runes  Iduna  gives  to  those 
Who  celebrate  her  praise  from  year  to  year, 
From  age  to  age  go  on  repeating  here 

What  paean  through  Valhalla  ever  goes 

When  Valor  overcomes  all  Scania 's  foes, 

When  Peace  and  Liberty  at  length  appear — 
Three  runes  unto  the  skald's  perception  clear, 

But  whose  significance  none  other  knows. 

One  tells  of  honest  truth  the  priceless  worth, 
Beyond  all  opulence  of  Ind  to  prove; 

One  tells  the  beauty  of  this  lower  earth, 
And  beauty  of  the  heavenly  worlds  above; 

The  third,  of  human  goodness  that  has  birth 
And  genial  nurture  in  warm  heart  of  Love. 


137 


MIMIR'S  WELL 

VjHILD  of  the  melting  glacier  and  snow' 

With  which  are  Scandinavia's  ridges  crowned 
The  rugged  mountain  giants  clustered  round 

Deep  vale  of  Scania — peaks  that  catch  the  glow 

Of  Midnight  Sun,  and  signal  those  below 
That  in  the  courses  of  the  sun  is  found 
Of  summer's  lengthening  days  the  farthest  bound,- 

Child  of  the  glacier,  musically  flow! 

Known  to  an  earlier  age  as  Mimir's  Well, 
Still  by  thy  borders  do  white  birches  grow, 

But  not  as  once  with  runes  cut  deep  and  fair; 
And  yet  the  trees  have  mysteries  to  tell, 
Truths  that  our  age  is  not  allowed  to  know, 
Yet  we  in  spirit  fondly  worship  there. 


138 


FRITHIOF'S  SAGA 

OWEET  fragrance  of  the  birch  woods  on  the  breeze 
Comes  down  the  slopes  of  Scania 's  rounded  hills 
In  company  with  laughter-loving  rills 

That  with  the  whispering  pines  make  melodies 

Haunting  the  shadowy  spaces  'neath  the  trees ; 
The  low  sad  music  of  their  cadence  fills 
The  soul  with  thoughts  of  distant  days — it  thrills 

The  feeling  heart  with  wakened  memories. 

The  softly  plaintive  voices  of  the  pines, 

Inspired  with  prescience  of  the  storm,  repeat 

Prophetic  strains  as  oracles  of  old; 
In  measured  movement  of  the  poet's  lines 
Are  felt  of  loving  hearts  the  rhythmic  beat, 
The  one  love  saga  of  the  North  is  told. 


139 


GOETHE 

1  HE  shifting  scenes  upon  his  mimic  stage 
Bring  us  the  heights  of  heaven,  the  depths  of  hell, 
Abode  of  angels,  den  where  devils  dwell, 

Where  mercy  soothes  us  and  where  passions  rage ; 

There  we  behold  man's  enemy  engage 
To  ruin  man ;  we  hear  the  tempter  tell 
The  market  price  at  which  a  soul  will  sell, 

And  read  its  paltriness  on  Goethe's  page. 

We  turn  from  that  to  smiling  summer  fields, 
We  listen  to  sweet  singing  of  a  bird 

And  in  the  grass  cull  one  blue  violet ; 
The  breath  of  morning  only  sweetness  yields, 
In  sparrow's  song  full  note  of  joy  is  heard ; 
We  try  sad  fate  of  Faustus  to  forget. 


140 


FAUST 


THE 


race  of  man,  devoid  of  reverence 
For  things  are  sacred — for  divinity, 
Has  always  over-curious  been  to  see 

What  lies  beyond  its  little  sphere  of  sense ; 

In  its  presumption  'twould  inquire  whence 
Its  limitation  that  it  cannot  be 
Lord  of  itself  and  hold  the  mastery 

Over  the  ordering  of  life's  events. 

So  is  it  in  his  Faust  has  Goethe  shown 
This  folly  and  this  madness  of  mankind, 
The  wish  all  mystery  of  life  to  know ; 
To  have  creative  power  all  its  own, 
And  in  the  exercise  of  this  to  find 
Man  is  himself  humanity's  dread  foe. 


141 


SCHILLER 

I*  ATE  strove  with  Nature,  trying  hard  to  make 
A  soldier  of  one  whom  the  Muses  chose 
To  be  their  servant — he  to  duty  rose 

As  one  who  gave  his  service  for  their  sake. 

It  was  for  Schiller  Custom's  rule  to  break, 
Heed  higher  call,  desert  the  ranks  of  those 
Who  were  enlisted  against  foreign  foes, 

From  its  long  sleep  the  larger  world  to  wake. 

He  painted  tyranny  as  none  before 

Had  dared  to  draw  it  with  a  hand  so  free, 
He  showed  how  thrones  in  wrath  of  Heaven 

fell; 

To  what  high  patriotic  zeal  could  soar 
Affirmed  heroic  Maid  of  Doremy, 
And  emphasized  intrepid  soul  of  Tell. 


142 


HEINE 

v^HILD  of  a  captive  and  an  outcast  race, 
A  people  from  their  holy  temples  torn, 
Subjected  to  the  world's  contempt  and  scorn 

But  finding  in  Jehovah's  plenteous  grace 

Strength  to  endure  man's  ostracism  base, 
To  a  condition  wretched  and  forlorn, 
Gifted  with  genius  was  Heine  born 

Unto  a  lowly  lot,  most  commonplace. 

His  was  the  unregarded  task  to  bear 
Burden  of  want,  of  misery  and  pain, 

Neglect  of  friends,  of  enemies  the  hate; 
Through  long,  long  years  of  wretchedness  to  wear 
The  mocking  mask  of  mirth,  good  cheer  to  feign, 
Approve  himself  superior  to  Fate. 


143] 


LA  FONTAINE 

W  ITH  hearty  laughter  or  with  mild  disdain 
To  note  the  foibles  of  the  human  race, 
To  chide  its  follies  with  most  gentle  grace, 

And  make  the  weakness  of  its  nature  plain 

By  having  beasts  in  courts  of  reason  reign, 
The  height  of  pride's  absurdity  to  trace 
Through  donkey's  voice  behind  the  lion's  face — 

This  was  the  genial  task  of  La  Fontaine. 

Were  we  to  search  the  parallel  to  find 
To  this  engaging  fabulist  of  yore, 

His  analogue  would  come  on  ready  wing, 
Our  year-round  redbreast  promptly  come  to  mind ; 
The  deeper  snow  the  nearer  to  our  door, 

The  heavier  rain  more  blithely  would  he  sing. 


144 


CHATEAUBRIAND 

A  WIND-SWEPT  headland  on  St.  Male's  shore, 
Washed  by  the  driving  storm,  the  driven  spray, 
And  crowned  by  that  lone  lookout  of  Grand  Be", 

Around  whose  foot  strong  tidal  currents  pour, 

Drown  the  wild  sea-bird's  cry  with  angry  roar, — 
There  was  most  fitting  place  whereon  to  lay 
In  final  rest  loved  singer  of  his  day 

Whose  death  must  France,  must  all  the  world  de- 
plore. 

Who  wakens  pity  in  the  human  breast 
And  teaches  hearts  to  feel  another's  woe, 
He  does  mankind  a  service  far  beyond 
Toil  in  the  field.    He  shows  us  what  is  best, 
Most  profitable  for  the  heart  to  know,— 
Such  was  the  work  Heaven  gave  Chateau- 
briand. 


145 


BERANGER 

O  cricket  ever  sang  more  blithely  gay 
Into  late  hours  of  a  summer's  night, 
No  early-waking  lark  e'er  met  the  light 
Of  summer  morning  with  a  roundelay 
More  joyous,  more  light-hearted  in  its  way, 
Poured  from  a  heart  transported  at  the  sight 
Of  god  Apollo  climbing  up  the  height 
Than  was  the  cheerful  song  of  Beranger. 

He  touched  the  chords  of  pity  with  a  deft 
And  gentle  hand,  was  most  compassionate 

Of  hearts  o'erburdened  with  a  nation's  pain ; 
He  saw  the  heart  of  France  with  sorrow  cleft, 
Her  fields  a  waste,  her  hearthstones  desolate, 
And  yet  he  sang  to  her  a  merry  strain. 


[146] 


VICTOR  HUGO 

11 E  lived  a  stranger  in  a  foreign  land; 
He  mourned,  as  Ovid  mourned,  the  unfeeling  fate 
That  sent  him  there — the  scorning  of  the  State 

That  banished  him  beyond  her  sea- worn  strand. 

Sad  in  his  island  home  by  breezes  fanned 

That  came  to  him  across  the  imprisoning  strait 
And  brought  sweet  scent  of  lilies  to  his  gate, 

For  France  and  Liberty  he  nobly  planned. 

Now  is  the  ignoble  power  at  an  end, 
And  he  who  drove  the  poet  over  sea 

Is  for  his  last  misfortune  chiefly  known ; 
To  Hugo  years  the  greater  glory  lend, 
The  World,  declaring  his  supremacy, 
Calls  him  to  larger  than  imperial  throne. 


147 


HEREDIA 

W  ITHIN  a  world  that  has  been  made  so  fair, 
Its  lands  and  seas  alike  pavilioned  by 
A  borderless,  blue,  star-bespangled  sky, 

Few  are  they  seeing  any  beauty  there, 

But  let  the  artist  choose  a  landscape  bare, 

Rock-strewn,  wind-swept,  and  to  his  canvas  try 
To  give  what  moods  and  features  charm  his  eye, 

The  beauty  of  that  picture  men  declare. 

The  ancient  world  of  feeling  and  of  thought, 
What  joys  and  sorrows  earlier  men  had  known 

Were  by  more  recent  passions  shaded  o'er; 
These  lone,  bleak  wastes  were  by  Heredia  sought, 
He  made  their  wide,  deserted  tracts  his  own, 
The  glory  of  their  greatness  to  restore. 


[148] 


CARMEN  SYLVA 

1  HOU  favored  child  of  Fortune,  thou  hast  worn 
With  queenly  grace  what  crown  a  queen  may 

wear; 
What  heavy  burdens  are  for  those  to  bear 

With  uncomplaining  patience  hast  thou  borne; 

Thine  oath  of  coronation  that  was  sworn 
In  faithfulness,  has  been  observed  with  care, 
And  thy  heart's  pity  given  everywhere 

When  have  thy  loyal  sons  been  called  to  mourn. 

And  yet,  and  yet — thy  gracious  heart  hath  known 
More  troubles  than  a  stranger  would  divine 

Could  round  the  station  of  a  sovereign  cling ; 
Thy  griefs  and  sorrows  then  become  our  own 
When    taken    down    for    us    "from    Memory's 

Shrine"; 
Thine  is  what  solace  sympathy  may  bring. 


149 


TARA 

A.  LONE  low  hill  upon  an  empty  plain, 
By  ruined  walls  and  ditches  fenced  around, 
Has  stood  through  ages  as  memorial  mound 

To  those  who  fighting  for  their  land  were  slain ; 

The  spot  was  sacred  under  Druid  reign, 
Its  summit  by  the  hall  of  Cormac  crowned 
As  Erin's  noble  capital  renowned 

'Neath  curse  of  bell  and  book  long  time  has  lain. 

Since  Diarmid's  day  lies  Tara  in  the  dust, 
All  echoes  of  her  song  have  died  away, 
Has  vanished  every  token  of  her  art ; 
But  still  the  memory  of  her  heroes  must 
Survive  and  flourish  to  the  latest  day, 
Enshrined  within  the  faithful  Irish  heart. 


[150] 


STONEHENGE 

r  AR  out  on  unfrequented  moor  they  rise, 
Huge  stones  were  never  wrought  by  hammer 

stroke 
But  taken,  just  as  titan  forces  broke 

Rough  granite  ledge,  in  blocks  of  massive  size; 

The  druids  ranged  these  pillars  circle  wise; 
A  roofless  temple  wherein  heart  of  oak 
Should  on  the  sacred  altar  duly  smoke 

With  savor  of  appointed  sacrifice. 

The  fires  burned  out,  the  altars  now  are  cold, 
Hushed  are  the  voice    of    priest,    the    victims' 

groans, 

The  place  is  silent  as  abode  of  Death ; 
But  yet,  the  mystery  of  that  work  is  told 

In  mute  disclosure  of  these  upraised  stones ; — 
These  were  the  lower  steps  to  higher  faith. 


[151 


THE  ROUND  TABLE 

f  AIN  would  the  world  again  see  Arthur's  court 
In  all  the  splendor  of  its  pageantry, 
Enchantments  of  its  fair  surroundings  see, 

The  beauty  of  its  dames — beyond  report, 

The  flower  of  knighthood,  met  in  manly  sport, 
Upholding  the  renown  of  chivalry, 
And  that  Round  Table  with  its  galaxy 

Embracing  spirits  of  the  nobler  sort. 

Shall  we  who  lead  of  manhood  hold  today, 
Who  strive  a  higher  level  yet  to  gain, 
And  in  a  clearer  atmosphere  to  live; 
Shall  we  our  standard  higher  set  than  they, 
More  strong  defense  of  righteousness  maintain 
And  to  the  world  a  grander  vision  give? 


[152] 


PASSING  OF  ARTHUR 

r  ROM  the  great  deep  he  went  to  the  great  deep; 
It  was  not  birth,  it  was  not  death  that  gave 
The  limits  to  that  course  from  wave  to  wave, 

That  splendid  pageantry  of  mighty  sweep 

As  magic  dream*  afford  us  in  our  sleep. 
The  spirit  of  our  age  was  strong  and  brave 
That  put  this  in  a  poet's  care  to  save 

And,  in  "the  Idylls  of  the  King"  to  keep. 

We,  too,  h.-t\<    ,«  i,  that  pageantry  sweep  by 
From  out  dim  mystery  to  yet  more  dim 

As  one  might  watch  a  vessel  from  the  shore. 
'  mi-  hearts — they  follow  after  with  a  sigh, 
<mr  eyes  with  tears  of  exaltation  swim 
And  of  regret  the  vision  is  no  more. 


153 


EXCALIBUR 

IT  was  a  woman's  arm,  a  woman's  hand, 
Robed  in  a  samite  sleeve  all  spotless  white, 
That  clove  the  water's  surface  flashing  bright, 

Upraising  thus  a  finely  tempered  brand ; 

It  was  a  woman's  voice  that  gave  command 
To  him  who  took  this  weapon,  as  her  knight, 
That  it  be  not  unsheathed  save  for  the  right 

And  in  defence  of  Briton's  ancient  land. 

This  was  the  magic  sword,  Excalibur, 

Which  all  but  Arthur  tried,  and  tried  in  vain, 

To  wield;  it  made  him  victor  of  the  foe. 
When,  at  his  death,  he  sent  it  back  to  her 
Who  had  bestowed  it,  that  same  hand  again 
Was  reached  to  take  it  to  the  depths  below. 


154 


IN  AVALON 

DENEATH  bright  glamor  of  departed  days, 
From  our  near  present  separated  wide, 
When  man  was  valiant,  woman  glorified 

With  beauty  that  inspired  the  minstrel's  lays, 

And  bravery  had  its  ample  meed  of  praise ; 
Then  honor  was  to  valor  close  allied, 
Fond  smile  of  beauty  was  the  champion's  pride, 

Fair  lady's  glove  more  prized  than  Roman  bays. 

Man  strove  for  honor  then  more  than  for  gain, 
And  woman  homage  claimed  with  lover's  vow, 
Thus  happily  through  life  they  journeyed  on. 
They  lived  their  lives  upon  a  higher  plane 
Than  is  to  be  attained  by  any  now 
Dwelling  the  while  in  vale  of  Avalon. 


155 


CHAUCER 

r  ATHER  of  English  verse,  most  genial  guide 
To  us  who  would  as  devotees  today 
Join  cavalcade  upon  the  Pilgrim  Way, 

And  to  A'Becket's  shrine  with  pilgrims  ride, 

Beside  the  Wife  of  Bath  or  by  the  side 

Of  Reve  upon  his  horse  "all  pomelee  grey," 
And  hear  the  Miller  tell  his  story  gay, 

The  young  Squire  gowned  "with  sleeves  long  and 
wide"; 

With  you  we  set  out  from  the  Tabard  Inn, 
And  on  the  road  we  listen  to  the  "Tales" 
Were  told  by  worthy  travelers  of  yore ; 
From  where  those  tales  with  Prologue  fair  begin 
We  read  and  read  to  where  the  singing  fails, 
"For  sorrie  herte  I  may  not  tellen  more." 


156] 


CANTERBURY  PILGRIMAGE 

r  ROM  over  spacious  field  of  Chaucer's  page 
Breathes  tender  freshness  of  that  April  day 
When,  starting  off  as  palmers  on  their  way, 

The  devotees  began  their  pilgrimage ; 

There  went  the  flower  of  youth,  ripeness  of  age, 
The  Prioress  sedate,  the  Squire  as  gay 
As  woodland  singer  in  the  month  of  May, 

Ready  with  banter  and  with  persiflage. 

We  see  them  journeying  on,  a  merry  crowd, 
We  hear  the  jingling  of  their  bridle  reins, 

Soft  laugh  of  merriment,  low  quips  of  fun; 
The  tale  is  told  with  plaudits  ringing  loud, 
With  each  successive  age  new  favor  gains ; — 
That  pilgrimage  is  never  to  be  done. 


[157] 


SPENSER 

1  HERE  was  in  England  an  heroic  age 
When  England  gloried  in  a  virgin  Queen, 
Men  of  most  noble  ancestry  were  seen 
Eager  on  perilous  daring  to  engage 
And  war  for  larger  conquests  yet  to  wage ; 
Sailing  the  farthest  north  and  south  between, 
They  made  these  lonely  shores  of  ours  the  scene 
Of  actions  memorable — our  heritage. 

But  there  was  one,  the  poet  and  the  seer, 
Who  vied  with  bold  explorer  on  the  sea, 
Calm  and  serene  as  pilot  at  the  helm ; 
He  looked  out  on  the  world  with  vision  clear, 
Discovered  nobler  lists  for  Chivalry 
And  for  his  fancy  found  a  Faerie  Realm. 


158] 


THE  FAERIE  QUEEN 

A  FABLED  border-land  lies  in  between 
This  world  material  on  which  we  dwell, 
Whose  make  and  history  we  know  so  well, 

And  that  unknown  world  which  is  only  seen 

By  eye  of  Faith — that  border  lies  serene, 
Haunted  on  every  hill,  in  every  dell 
By  sprites  of  whom  our  folklore  stories  tell, — 

Devoted  servitors  unto  their  Queen. 

Wrapped  in  the  soft  enchantment  of  that  land, 
Its  empty  glamour  and  its  magic  charm, 
By  Spenser  led,  we  ramble  on  and  on 
Until  we  are  beset  on  either  hand 

By  strange  illusions — then  a  quick  alarm 
Awakens  reason,  and  the  spell  is  gone. 


[159 


WOODS  OF  ARDEN 

Y  E  Woods  of  Arden,  'neath  whose  leafy  shades 
Soft,  moss-grown  paths  go  many  devious  ways, 
With  sinuous  windings  weave  a  mystic  maze 

By  streamlets  leading  down  to  grassy  glades ; 

They  seem  the  paths  whereon  Pierian  maids 
Have  wandered  by  themselves  in  earlier  days, 
Enraptured  by  some  love-inspired  lays 

Or  by  a  lover's  moonlight  serenades. 

We  follow  on  your  footpaths  unaware 
At  every  turn  the  gifted  seer  would  find 

Faint  glimpse  just  passing  of  a  vanished  god ; 
Yet  our  dull  natures  meet  a  Presence  there — 
A  mystery,  until  there  comes  to  mind 

Before  us  on  your  mosses  Shakespeare  trod! 


160 


SHAKESPEARE 

JN  O  marble  frieze  adorned  with  sculptured  fame 
Brilliant  as  human  fancy  can  devise, 
No  walls  of  polished  stone  shall  ever  rise 

Of  Poesy  the  greatness  to  proclaim; 

Nor  can  the  builder's  genius  ever  frame 
A  vaulted  temple  roof  below  the  skies 
That  shall  within  its  spheral  arch  comprise 

Aught  of  the  spaciousness  of  Shakespeare's  name. 

This  fills  the  world  with  a  most  glorious  light 
That  streams  undimmed  across  the  ages  past 

Nor  suffers  it  eclipse  in  passage  long ; 
It  shines  upon  our  shores  as  warmly  bright 
As  on  the  Mother  Land,  and  to  the  last 
It  shall  shine  on  in  poet's  praise  of  Song. 


161 


HAMLET 

"\VHETHER  'tis  nobler?"   ah,  the  doubt  and 
fear 

That  in  the  hesitation  are  expressed! 

The  unsolved  mystery  is  never  guessed 
By  any  spirit  while  sojourning  here; 
And  shall  it  hope  to  find  in  larger  sphere 

From  dire  perplexity  its  final  rest, 

Achieve  at  last  the  noblest  and  the  best, 
No  worthier  wreath  of  victory  appear? 

Alike  mysterious  are  life  and  death, 
As  little  known  is  Hamlet  as  the  ghost, 
The  man  in  this  no  wiser  is  than  boy ; 
Discussing  destiny,  we  waste  our  breath ; 
Who  is  content  with  least,  he  has  the  most; 
Of  earth  or  heaven,  we  own  what  we  enjoy. 


[162] 


BEN  JONSON 

A  RUGGED   rock,   storm-beaten   through   the 

years, 

Boldly  confronts  a  rough  and  billowy  sea 
That  gnaws  away  its  base  unceasingly, 

Shows  not  of  sea  nor  conflict  any  fears, 

But,  'mid  wild  rage  of  elements,  appears 
Calm  and  unmoved — content  itself  to  be 
Grim  warden  of  the  foreshore's  destiny; 

Against  the  storm  its  mighty  form  uprears. 

Not  otherwise,  confronting  human  life, 
And  looking  off  across  long  ages  past 

Did  rare  old  Ben  survey  the  stormy  scene; 
He  saw  the  warring  passions  all  at  strife, 
Saw  tyranny  and  freedom  grappled  fast, 
Defeat  and  triumph — all  that  lies  between. 


[163] 


MILTON 

W  HAT  have  you,  Time,  most  precious  in  your 

care 

Kept  as  an  heirloom  to  a  later  age, 
Or  shown  with  pride  upon  the  storied  page, 

Inscribed  in  letters  of  the  brightest  there, 

Making  of  poets'  lives  a  record  fair 
That  should  approval  of  the  World  engage, 
Should  be  received  as  noblest  heritage 

By  all  that  love  the  Muses  everywhere? 

And  Time  makes  answer  to  this  questioning ; 
"The  fame  of  those  you  ask  for  does  not  rest 

More  than  the  shaping  of  their  lives  with  me ; 
I  simply  take  what  names  the  centuries  bring, 
And  such  as  are  found  worthiest  and  best 
Are  handed  over  to  Eternity." 


164] 


PARADISE  LOST 

W  HEN  would  men  build  a  fane  Olympian 
That  for  its  full  perfection  should  be  known, 
They  cut  to  its  just  scale  each  quarried  stone 

And  worked  on  to  the  end  as  they  began ; 

They  understood  that  in  these  works  of  man 
In  which  his  workmanship  is  to  be  shown 
All  rests  upon  the  fair  design  alone, 

On  following  out  a  well-conceived  plan. 

So  Milton — though  to  him  was  light  denied — 
Engaged  upon  the  theme  that  was  his  choice, 

Unto  the  end  held  to  his  purpose  high; 
That  mighty  task  of  his  he  glorified, 

In  its  accomplishment  could  well  rejoice, 

Since  it  was  done  'neath  his  Taskmaster's  eye. 


[165] 


LOSS  OF  EDEN 

rATHETIC  theme  of  misery  and  woe, 
Sad  story  of  a  weak  and  hapless  pair 
Into  whose  hands  was  given  the  tender  care 

Of  Eden's  innocence ;  their  task  to  sow 

The  seeds  of  flowers,  watch  the  young  plants  grow 
Up  to  maturity  of  blossoming  fair ; 
These  fostering  keepers  wholly  unaware 

Of  Evil  plotting  Virtue's  overthrow. 

Such  was  the  theme  of  Milton's  happy  choice, 
Well  suited  to  the  habit  of  his  thought 
Nor  less  apt  to  the  genius  of  his  pen; 
He  listened  to  the  Archangel's  mighty  voice 
Commanding  him  to  write  as  he  was  taught, 
"And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  men." 


[166] 


GOLDSMITH 


Wi 


HO  sang  of  "Home,  sweet  Home,"  the  pain 

had  known 

Of  separation  from  his  place  of  birth, 
Of  nature's  ties  of  kinship  learned  the  worth, 
In  thronged  assemblies  felt  himself  alone ; 
He  sang  his  heart's  desire  in  plaintive  tone, 
And  that  one  song  of  his  goes  round  the  earth, 
Meets  warmest  welcoming  at  every  hearth 
That  waits,  and  waits  some  wanderer  of  its  own. 

"The  Traveler"  tuned  Goldsmith's  tender  heart, 
Was  prelude  to  that  fonder,  tenderer  line, 

"Sweet  Auburn,  loveliest  village  of  the  plain"; 
He  mourned  its  fate,  unconscious  of  his  art, 

In  words  that  move  your  sympathies  and  mine, 
Sung  most  melodiously  in  minor  strain. 


167 


THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE 

OWEET  Auburn,  made  immortal  by  the  pen 
Of  Goldsmith,  who  had  known  it  when  a  boy. 
The  humble  rural  hamlet  of  Lissoy, 

Where  had  his  father  labored  among  men, 

The  "village  preacher,"  where  the  boy  played  when 
School  was  exchanged  for  freedom,  books  for  toy, 
Tasks  for  the  sportive  game  and  gloom  for  joy, 

It  was  the  "loveliest  village"  to  him  then. 

Today  we  see  it  pictured  by  the  sun, 
With  shrubbery  its  gardens  overgrown, 

And  water  stealing  silent  past  the  mill ; 
Although  a  hundred  years  and  more  have  run 
No  careful  hand  replaces  fallen  stone ; 
Lissoy  remains  "deserted  village"  still. 


168 


BURNS 

11 E  had  the  human  heart,  the  human  soul, 
He  met  the  frown  of  Fortune  with  a  smile, 
Singing  his  song  of  courage  to  beguile 

That  hard,  rough  road  that  led  him  toward  his  goal ; 

He  strove  with  wayward  passion  for  control, 
And  if  he  failed  of  mastery  the  while 
His  armor  took  on  polish  from  the  file, 

Yet  was  Burns  to  be  victor  on  the  whole. 

Not  all  his  strength  was  given  to  his  day, 
Nor  spent  upon  Mossgiel's  ungrateful  soil, 

His  genius  burned  a  more  enduring  flame ; 
The  songs  he  sang  go  ringing  on  for  aye, 
Long  will  the  daisy  bless  the  plowman's  toil, 
And  honest  labor  share  poetic  fame. 


169 


SCOTT 

IT  called  for  deftness  of  the  master  hand, 
For  lightest  touch  of  genius  to  bring 
To  our  dull  ears  the  many  tales  that  cling 

To  brae  and  burn  along  the  Borderland 

Where  side  by  side  now  Gael  and  Saxon  stand, 
In  arts  of  peace  each  other  rivalling, 
But  where  for  centuries  in  the  past  did  ring 

Sharp  twang  of  bow,  loud  clash  of  tenpered  brand. 

That  patriot  task  was  taken  up  by  Scott, 
He  gave  to  it  the  ardor  of  his  life, 

Toiled  to  achievement  through  fatigue  and 

pain; 

Alike  for  Saxon  and  for  Gael  he  wrought, 
Gave  praise  to  what  was  noble  in  the  strife, 
Cheers  to  the  victor  host,  tears  to  the  slain. 


[170] 


LADY  OF  THE  LAKE 

W  E  watch  her  pushing  off  the  island  strand, 
With  skill  of  boatman  plying  dripping  oar, 
She  rounds  the  point,  and,  looking  toward  the 
shore, 

Sees  hound  and  huntsman  on  the  curving  sand, 

Expectant  of  an  answering  "halloo,"  stand 
And  listen  to  the  baying  dogs'  deep  roar; 
Silent  the  maiden  stays  her  boat  before 

The  Highland  hunter,  waiting  his  command. 

How  has  the  magic  of  the  poet's  pen 

Brought  from  the  past  fine  grace  of  chivalry 
And  shown  it  mirrored  in  the  lonely  lake! 
Here  Beauty  waits  on  Courtesy,  as  when 
Knight-errant  entered  in  the  lists  to  try 
His  lance's  temper  for  his  lady's  sake. 


171 


WORDSWORTH 

IT  is  as  if,  'neath  an  October  sky, 

Out  on  the  open  hills  where  north  winds  blow, 

And  overlooking  valleys  far  below, 
With  one  familiar,  fond  companion,  I 
Were  strolling  leisurely,  enchanted  by 

Rare  beauty  of  the  scene,  by  converse  low 

Of  him  who  at  my  side  was  pacing  slow 
Paths  leading  us  to  levels  yet  more  high. 

I  breathe,  it  seems  to  me,  more  spacious  air, 
Drink  clearer  fountain  than  I  yet  have  known, 
Am  brought  to  selfhood  and  to  nature  near; 
And  then  it  is  that  I  become  aware 

That  on  poetic  page  these  scenes  are  shown — 
It  is  the  voice  of  Wordsworth  that  I  hear. 


[172] 


COLERIDGE 

DE  it  the  gift  of  Fortune  or  of  Grace, 
The  sweetly-granted  favor  of  the  Muse, 
No  mortal  may  Heaven's  offering  refuse, 

Nor  may  neglect  his  talent  sole  to  place 

In  circulation — bid  it  speed  apace 
And  gain  another  talent  by  its  use; 
For  negligence  the  gods  take  no  excuse 

Nor  their  indulgence  grant  in  any  case. 

The  splendid  talents  given  to  Coleridge's  care 
Should  have  been  husbanded  and  laid  out  well, 

Not  folded  in  a  napkin  to  be  dimmed ; 
They  would  have  brightened  more  from  constant 

use 
Than  even  as  they  show  in  Christabel, 

Or  when  the  glories  of  Mont  Blanc  are  hymned. 


173 


CHRISTABEL 

1  HE  poet  in  a  poet's  way  would  show 
What  power  has  purity  of  maiden's  love, 
True  spirit  of  devotion  from  above, 

Base  wiles  of  sorcery  to  overthrow, 

And,  by  its  fervent  wishes,  breathed  low 
In  prayer  to  Love  Divine,  avail  to  move 
Heaven's  pity,  and  to  heart  of  mortal  prove 

Resistless  force  of  passion's  steady  flow. 

The  fancied  chamber  of  her  peaceful  sleep 
Is  faithful  copy  of  the  maiden's  heart — 

A  sanctuary  this,  a  hermit's  cell — 
Wherein  does  Love  his  holy  vigil  keep, 
Guard  with  fidelity  and  subtle  art 

The  pure,  unsullied  dream  of  Christabel. 


174 


TENNYSON 

v-lNE  day — alas,  it  was  a  lonesome  day! 
The  sky  was  covered  with  a  heavy  cloud, 
The  murky  fog  and  mist  hung  as  a  shroud 

Above  unsmiling  waters  of  the  bay, 

Long  time  the  barque  with  somber  canvas  lay 
Inside  the  bar — a  shallop  narrow-prowed, 
Biding  her  time  until  she  were  allowed 

With  a  propitious  wind  to  sail  away. 

It  came  as  if  Arion's  deathless  song 
Had  thrilled  immensity  to  regions  far, 
Or  as  triumphal  note  of  dying  swan. 
Enchanted  by  the  strains,  men  listened  long 
To  hear  the  singer's  "Crossing  of  the  Bar"; 
The  World  wept  silence — Tennyson  was  gone. 


[175 


PALACE  OF  ART 

11  IS  spacious  palace  high  and  stately  rose 

To  Fancy's  vision  at  the  poet's  will, 

In  every  part  of  it  the  highest  skill 
Of  master-builder  full  perfection  shows ; 
And  he  who  passes  through  its  portals  knows 

What  works  of  genius  its  galleries  fill ; 

From  broidered  arras  what  brave  gentry  still 
Looks  calmly  on  the  present  as  it  goes. 

Here  will  we  enter  in  and  rest  the  while 
The  outer  world  in  lap  of  winter  lies, 

And  starry  flakes  come  slowly  drifting  down; 
From  glowing  canvas  here  fair  women  smile, 
Up  from  the  buried  past  its  heroes  rise, 
:  Yet  living  in- imperishable  renown. 


176 


BYRON 

IX.OUND  peaks  close  hooded  with  eternal  snow 
Dark  storm  clouds  linger  on  from  day  to  day, 
Nor  are  these  from  their  mooring  torn  away 

By  any  force  of  uncurbed  gales  that  blow; 

They  feed  through  all  the  year  cool  streams  that 

flow 

O'er  broken  ledges,  slopes  of  granite  gray, 
Down  into  meadow  lands  with  summer  gay, 

They  give  glad  greenness  to  fair  plains  below. 

The  genius  of  Byron,  wild  and  strong, 
Dwelt  by  itself,  from  other  lives  apart, 

He  walked  far  heights  of  minstrelsy  alone ; 
Some  cadences  of  that  inspiring  song 
Fall  into  rhythm  with  the  beating  heart 
And  waken  feeling  kindred  to  its  own. 


[177 


PRISONER  OF  CHILLON 


THE 


dungeon's  damp,  the  dungeon's  heavy  air, 
Unvisited  by  any  light  of  day 
Unless  a  beam  at  noontide,  far  astray, 

Through  the  barred  slit  in  stone  had  stolen  there ; 

The  dungeon  floor  and  walls  of  all  things  bare 
That  could  a  sense  of  humane  care  convey, 
From  manhood's  prime  till  he  was  hoary  gray, 

All  this  'twas  lot  of  Bonnivard  to  share. 

Bold  record  of  the  luckless  prisoner's  fate 
Is  traced  at  length  of  his  confining  chain 

By  circling  groove  worn  in  the  floor  of  stone; 
Nor  less  enduring  living  words  relate 

The  slow-paced  years  of  hunger,  cold  and  pain, 
Revealed  in  Byron's  "Prisoner  of  Chillon." 


178] 


SHELLEY 

1  HE  sea  gull  plying  up  and  down  the  shore, 
At  one  time  sweeping  low,  then  circling  high 
As  if  the  wary  fishes  to  descry, 
The  deeps  and  shallows  of  the  sea  explore, 
On  an  unwearied  wing  does  upward  soar 
Until  itself  is  lost  in  azure  sky, 
A  dim  spot  vanishing  from  straining  eye 
Of  watcher  waiting  its  return  once  more. 

The  genius  of  Shelley  in  its  flight 

Came  now  and  then  to  our  earth  very  near, 
Coursing  along  the  common  ways  of  men ; 
Again  it  soared  into  celestial  light, 

Became  a  brilliant  planet  shining  clear, 
Then  dimly  vanished  far  from  mortal  ken. 


[179] 


ADONAIS 

L-/ASTING  memorial  was  the  tribute  paid 
By  Shelley  to  his  brother  poet,  Keats, 
Sad  lines  in  which  his  mourning  Muse  repeats 

Outbursts  of  grief  for  flowers  that  early  fade, 

For  music  silenced  in  the  myrtle  shade, 
Silenced  in  death — the  heart  no  longer  beats, 
The  lips  are  mute,  from  tongue  no  more  flow 
sweets 

Of  minstrelsy — such  strains  as  Orpheus  played. 

Short  time  Keats,  waited  unfulfilled  renown 
Of  which  he  wrote  in  a  despairing  line, 

Lamenting  work  would  never  come  to  end, 
While  even  then  had  Fame  devised  a  crown 
Of  ivy  that  with  laurel  should  entwine, — 
Had  given  it  to  the  hand  of  grieving  friend. 


180] 


KEATS 

/\S  in  a  meadow  where  the  growing  grass 
Falls  to  the  mower's  scythe  before  its  time, 
And  with  the  grass  a  lily  in  its  prime 

Bows  to  the  steady  rhythmic  strokes  that  pass, 

So  was  cut  short  the  poet's  life,  alas! 

Before  his  genius  gained  the  strength  to  climb 
Heights  of  poetic  visioning  sublime 

That  levels  loftiest  Himalayan  mass. 

But  as  the  fragrance  of  the  lily  lives, 
And  with  the  fading  of  the  petals'  glow 

A  sweeter  breath  is  from  its  calyx  shed, 
So  to  our  later  time  Keats'  music  gives 
A  melody  his  own  day  did  not  know; 

The  song  is  praised  now  that  the  singer's  dead. 


[181] 


HOOD 

/xT  times  are  we  surprised  to  find  how  near 
In  consciousness  does  pleasure  rest  with  pain, 
As  sunshine  mingles  with  the  summer  rain 

So  will  a  smile  light  up  a  falling  tear; 

Amid  our  fondest  fancies  will  appear 

Thoughts  of  a  joy  that  cannot  come  again; 
Our  merry  songs  end  with  a  sad  refrain, 

With  quivering  lip  we  speak  a  word  of  cheer. 

How  near  of  kin  are  wretchedness  and  mirth! 
That  while  the  voice  is  laboring  with  one 

The  other  burdens  us  with  different  mood; 
So  grief  and  laughter  had  their  common  birth 
In  songs  of  toil  and  want  until  the  pun 
Became  the  blazon  of  our  brotherhood. 


182] 


SONG  OF  THE  SHIRT 

IT  is  not  for  bewitching  melody, 

For  rhythmic  flow  of  smoothly  running  verse 
That  we  read  Hood ;  his  laughing  lines  rehearse 

Of  hopeless  toiling  lives  the  misery. 

Beneath  that  mask  of  mirth  and  jollity 
Do  we  behold  Creation's  primal  curse 
By  man's  insatiate  greed  of  gold  made  worse 

Than  ever  was  designed  that  it  should  be. 

The  poet,  in  his  own  case,  sadly  knew 
How  chilly  cold  are  penury  and  want, 

And  how  the  slights   and  frowns   of   Fortune 

hurt; 

He  from  his  lifelong  hard  experience  drew 
Sad  pictures  of  distress  and  pain  that  haunt 
His  weirdly  plaintive,   human  "Song  o'   the 
Shirt." 


183] 


BRYANT 

1  HE  summer  bird,  on  its  returning  flight 
Through  space  illimitable,  makes  alone 
Its  long,  unresting  way  from  zone  to  zone, 

Nor  is  there  risk  of  error  day  or  night. 

We  cannot  know  if  it  be  led  by  sight, 
Or  it  be  guided  by  some  skill  unknown, 
Some  other  sense  to  which  the  way  is  shown; 

We  only  know  it  shapes  its  course  aright. 

The  youth  who  watched  the  wild  fowl  disappear 
In  growing  dimness  of  the  evening  sky, 

And  in  reflective  thought  yet  followed  long, 
He  kept  in  mind  that  vision  many  a  year, 
A  steady  flight  to  lay  his  own  course  by 

As  he  sought  far-off  heights  in  Land  of  Song. 


[184 


"A  FOREST  HYMN" 

W  HO  in  the  earlier  practice  of  his  art 
Sang  of  the  voices  in  which  Nature  tells 
The  mystery  of  life  and  death  that  dwells 

In  wood  and  field  from  common  thought  apart, 

Of  voices  speaking  only  to  the  heart 
As  on  the  lonely  shore  do  empty  shells 
Repeat  and  magnify  in  vaulted  cells 

Music  that  wakens  Fancy  with  a  start; 

He  later  sang  for  us  "a  Forest  Hymn" 
Revealing  hidden  influence  that  lurks 

In  growing  things  and  unto  beauty  strives ; 
He  bade  us  meditate  in  woodland  dim, 
And  to  the  beautiful  order  of  God's  works 
Learn  to  conform  the  order  of  our  lives. 


[185 


EMERSON 

IT  was  a  happy  destiny  that  gave 

Into  a  puritanic  fostering  care 

The  nurture  of  a  genius  so  rare 
As  that  of  Emerson,  so  strong  and  brave 
The  oppressor  to  denounce,  to  shield  the  slave; 

Foremost  with  intrepidity  to  dare 

His  testimony  against  wrong  declare, 
And  'midst  the  tumult  his  composure  save. 

That  soul,  so  fortunate  in  time  and  place, 
Found  study  of  life's  use  its  duty  here, 

And  what  it  learned  unto  its  fellows  taught ; 
Lent  to  its  lessons  a  yet  added  grace, 
The  Delphic  utterance  of  poetic  seer, 

Showed  loftier  truths  to  our  serener  thought. 


186 


POE 

OE  had  a  happy  heart  when  he  was  young, 
And  every  day  he  had  a  song  to  sing 
Merry  as  song  of  blackbirds  on  the  wing, 

No  notes  but  those  of  gladness  in  it  rung 

But  there  were  moody  silences  among 

The  rich  outpourings  of  that  joyous  spring, 
And  fancies  frightful  with  their  threatening 

A  shadow  over  all  his  future  flung. 

His  was  the  gift  that  Heaven  hates  to  bestow 
On  any  untried  soul  that  comes  to  birth, 

Doomed  to  a  hard  and  cramped  existence  here ; 
The  gift  of  genius  well  designed  to  show 
The  ecstasy  of  human  joy  on  earth 
To  grief  and  melancholy  is  how  near! 


187 


WHITTIER 

1  HE  quaker  mode  of  speech,  the  quaker  dress 
Befitted  well  the  man  of  sober  thought, 
And  well  became  the  message  which  he  brought ; 
Strong  word  of  cheer  the  laborer's  toil  to  bless, 
Soft  word  of  comfort  for  a  heart's  distress, 
Words  all  with  wisdom  of  experience  fraught, 
And  such  as,  into  lines  poetic  wrought, 
Flow  ever  on  in  perfect  peacefulness. 

The  Quaker  Poet  holds  high  place  among 
Those  who  have  striven  a  cheerful  song  to  raise 

Where  is  so  often  heard  sharp  cry  of  pain ; 
In  shop  and  mill,  on  farm  and  road  are  sung 
His  songs  of  labor  and  his  hymns  of  praise 
That  potent  were  to  break  the  bondman's 
chain. 


188] 


SNOW-BOUND 

/\  LONE  New  England  farmhouse  old  and  brown, 
Nearby,  a  barn  stands  weatherworn  and  gray, 
These  look  upon  a  rarely  trodden  way 

The  long  slope  of  the  hillside  winding  down; 

To  this  place  seldom  from  the  busy  town 
Come  steps  of  idle  saunterer  astray — 
Less  frequent  come  when  Winter,  as  today, 

Puts  on  his  ermine  robe  and  regal  crown. 

Such  as  this  bleak  and  bare  midwinter  scene 

Has    Whittier's    memory    from    his    childhood 

brought 

With  vivid  fancies  richly  broidered  round; 
It  is  a  sleeping  world,  calm  and  serene, 
A  world  of  purest  alabaster  wrought, 

Given  in  his  winter  idyl  of  "Snow-Bound." 


189 


LONGFELLOW 

W  E  linger  long  upon  the  sunset  hill 
To  watch  the  splendor  of  the  passing  day, 
Watch  spectral  gathering  of  gloom  and  gray 

That  all  the  lowlands  with  a  mystery  fill ; 

Our  senses  with  a  glad  emotion  thrill 
While  that  fair  vision  slowly  melts  away, 
And  yet  the  longer,  longer  do  we  stay 

To  hear  the  wood- thrush  in  the  evening  still. 

So  do  we  linger  o'er  the  splendid  page 
Of  English  song  that  masters  melody 

And  charms  the  thoughtful  hour  with  delight ; 
Its  beauty  and  its  grace  our  hearts  engage 
Until,  enraptured  into  ecstasy, 
We  hear  Longfellow's  "Voices  of  the  Night." 


190] 


AD  MAGISTREM 

I  GET  divine,  how  often  in  thy  song 
We  hear  the  cadence  of  some  silvery  note 
That  falls  as  softly  as  if  from  the  throat 

Of  woodland  warbler  singing  all  day  long 

In  summer  time ;    upon  our  vision  throng 
Thought  visitors  from  time  and  place  remote, 
Fair  dreams  that  over  sunset  waters  float 

Displaying  hopes  that  make  our  being  strong. 

Whether  it  be  steadfast  Evangeline 

Or  Pilgrim  maiden  doth  inspire  thy  lays, 

In  every  song  such  cadences  will  fall 
As  blend  the  music  of  the  birds  with  thine ; 
Yet  of  earth's  choir  worshipping  with  praise 
Wast  thou  the  sweetest  singer  of  them  all. 


191 


HIAWATHA 

llE  was  the  hope  of  an  heroic  race 
To  be  the  Indian  warrior  brave  and  strong, 
A  chief  for  whom  his  tribe  had  waited  long, 

Their  leader  both  in  war  and  in  the  chase, 

One  who  to  victory  a  path  would  trace 
Blazing  in  glory;  would  avenge  a  wrong, 
Achieve  an  exploit  to  be  told  in  song, 

And  by  his  conduct  lend  theirs  finer  grace. 

He  came  among  his  people  as  a  child 
Of  noble  nature  though  of  humble  birth, 

With  all  the  gifts  of  generous  manhood  blessed ; 
He  was  for  them  too  temperate  and  mild, 
Nor  did  they  recognize  their  prince's  worth 
Till  he  had  sailed  away  into  the  west. 


[192 


PRISCILLA 

A  GENTLE  spirit  used  to  gentle  ways, 
Reared  in  the  fear  of  God  nor  other  fear, 
With  humble  duties  and  with  happy  cheer 

Filling  long  hours  of  her  laborious  days, 

And  all  those  busy  hours  giving  praise 
That  Paradise  about  her  lies  so  near, 
Home  and  its  fond  affections  are  so  dear, 

So  strong  the  faith  her  youthful  spirit  stays. 

Fair  land  of  promise  was  the  wilderness 
To  her  who  felt  the  Lord's  upholding  hand, 
Read  words  prophetic  on  the  sacred  page ; 
Her  life  was  given  succeeding  lives  to  bless, 
A  fondly  cherished  memory  of  our  land — 
Glory  unmatched  of  our  heroic  age. 


193] 


AT  THE  HALTING-PLACE 

F  AR   have  we  traced  from  its  cool,   snow-fed 
springs 

High  up  on  broken  slopes  of  Castaly, 

The  never  silent  stream  of  poesy 
That  from  the  borderland  of  winter  brings 
Refreshing  coolness  and  a  charm  that  clings 

Forever  to  remote  antiquity, 

That  with  our  rhythmic  thought  makes  melody, 
And  on  its  course  continually  sings. 

Here  halt  we  for  a  little  rest  the  while 

Are  April's  violets  blossoming  in  the  grass, 

And  watch  the  current  as  it  sweeps  along ; 
We  cannot  realize  how  many  a  mile 

The  wave  has  come,  how  many  it  must  pass 
In  traversing  the  spacious  Realms  of  Song. 


194 


AD  LECTOREM 

JM  0 W  have  we  come — with  Fancy  long  astray — 
Down  wooded  slopes  of  high  Parnassan  hills 
Whereon  the  dew  of  early  morn  distils 

Its  rainbow-tinted  drops  for  foot  of  fay 

To  set  a-tinkling;  for  us  all  the  way 
Has  been  a  murmuring  of  running  rills, 
A  musically  lapsing  sound  that  fills 

With  melody  song  meadows  of  today. 

Now  is  it  time  that  we  consider  well 
What  truth  and  beauty  on  the  way  appeared, 
What  good  was  gathered  as  we  came  along; 
And  in  our  humble  verses  try  to  tell 

What  strains  of  poesy  our  spirits  cheered 

As  we  strolled  idly  down  through  Realms  of 
Song. 


195] 


U€SB   1IBRARY 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  U8RARY  FACILITY 


